Test of Faith
by PassPtOfObsession
Summary: Sam & Dean have survived their fathers death as well as the last battle with the yellowed eyed demon. Through the journey they had found love amongst themselves. With the demon dead, Dean believes they are relieved of the burden. Are they? WARNING: Winces
1. Tormented Dreams

**Warning**: This contains possible rape, Wincest (MxM, slash, guy on guy), violence and torture.

**Diclaimer** : Supernatural is owned by CW

**Summary:** Sam & Dean have survived their fathers death as well as the last battle with the yellowed eyed demon. Through the journey they had found love amongst themselves. With the demon dead, Dean believes they are relieved of the burden. Perhaps, that is their downfall...

* * *

Chapter One:

_Tormented Dreams_

Sunlight announced the early morning, flecks of dust dancing within the rays. The finger-like glow crept up Sam's exposed back, hovering briefly before coating closed lids of the other Winchester.

Grumbling, Dean nudged his nose further in the crook of Sam's neck, inhaling deeply. When the sun did not move, but continued to tease the twenty-seven year old, Dean finally cracked an eye open. The ferocity of the light caused him to scrunch his face, half his brain still held within the land of dreams. Hearing soft snoring beside him, Dean smiled, placing a delicate kiss on Sam's cheek. The young sibling's head turned towards the affection. "Always sleep'en late Sammy!" _When you're not having nightmares or visions that is._ Dean added silently, easing himself from the bed so he sat upright upon its edge. Dressed in only a pair of boxer shorts, the Winchester's muscles rippled in plain view as he twisted his back, a sigh emitting along with a pop. "I need coffee…" Dean mumbled, his hands running through his blonde, spiked mane. Blinking a few times, he slowly came to his senses. With a glance over his shoulder, Dean's lips quirked at the image of his lover's peaceful slumber.

Since the yellow-eyed-demon had been shot-by Dean's hand of course-Sam had been sleeping more, his mind no longer plagued by death. His body needed it, having been deprived of such regeneration for over twenty years.

The smell of sweat brought Dean from his revelations, nose sniffing the air. Feeling a tinge bit unclean, the Winchester tip-toed into the bathroom, closing the door slowly before letting out a loud breath. As he turned, his reflection greeted him, smiling along with him. "Well hello handsome." Winking, Dean chuckled as he turned on the shower, waiting until it reached a reasonable temperature before hopping in. The water felt good against his skin, pounding out the residue of the night and pumping energy back into his body. By the time the shower had gone cold, Dean felt refreshed, humming to himself as he dried most of himself off before tying the towel around his waist. Exiting the bathroom, Dean's face brightened at the sight of Sam, his eyes half lidded and chest exposed to the older Winchester. "Morning sleepy-head." Dean acknowledged loudly, making his presence known.

Bobbing his head, Sam cleared his throat of gunk. "'orning. What time is it?" He asked, yawning.

Dean glanced at the busted-up alarm clock on the nightstand beside the bed, already used to Sam's laziness. "Almost noon. I thought I would have to pour a bucket of water over ya or something." Turning his back to Sam, Dean busied himself with getting dressed, deciding to disregard his lover's glare.

"You wouldn't dare…" Sam challenged, sitting up. Itching his shoulder, he huffed, eyes eventually landing on the open door to the still steaming bathroom. "You leave any hot water?" He asked sarcastically.

Dean cocked his head, looking over at Sam. "Now, why would I steal all the hot water and force you to take a cold one?" the Winchester answered in mock concern. His façade broke as his face was split with a grin. When Sam just stared at him blankly, Dean rolled his eyes, expression dimming. "I didn't, alright? Jeesh! Don't get your panties in a twist Sammy, it's only a shower." Shaking his head, the twenty-seven year old tugged a shirt over his head.

Raising a brow, Sam stood, walking over to Dean. "Excuse me, _panties_? I don't wear panties Dean. You should know, having yanked my boxers off last night faster than Speedy Gonzales…" His voice dropped a notch.

Licking his lips, Dean spun, eyes going up and down Sam's form. Grasping his chin, Dean took a step closer, body barely touching the other Winchester. "You liked it though…your groans were so loud they probably woke the neighbors in the next room." He cooed, guiding Sam's lips onto his. Dean smirked as he felt Sam shiver from his touch. The Winchester had purposely left out the fact that he was beginning to become sexual stirred from the mentioning of their event last night. Pulling back, he pressed his thumb gently over the bottom rim of Sam's mouth. "See, don't tell me you didn't like that." Easing back, his hand dropped to his side reluctantly.

Sam blushed, down casting his eyes. After a couple of seconds he caved. "Okay, maybe I liked it, but you _obviously_ did too." Lifting his gaze, Sam motioned to Dean's pitched tent between his legs, laughing quietly to himself as he dashed to the bathroom for his shower.

_Nice job!_ A voice scolded in Dean's head, his lids closing in embarrassment. Coughing, he looked down, finding that he was indeed excited. The Winchester suddenly simpered, nodding his head with a prideful look on his features. "Got me good Sam, but I won't be the one left standing next time…just watch." Making a sound with his tongue as he ran it over his teeth, Dean straightened. "For I invented Winchester trickery."

* * *

Southern Rock played from the jute box within the small but adequately sized bar, a couple of tables full of customers that only added to the noise with their chatter. Objects both old and new covered the wooden panels along the walls, a rifle mounted in plain sight. It warned trouble makers that their kind wasn't tolerated. Above the gun was the head of a buffalo, his eyes unblinking and nose still.

Eyeing it, one female cackled, plump dark crimson painted lips bending upwards. Cigarette smoke streamed steadily from the flaming bud perched against her mouth, fire coming alive for moments as Enya inhaled. Her blackened lashes flickered closed as she enjoyed the feeling. Long finger-nailed tips bumped the white wrap over the ash tray, the hand coming to rest upon the counter. Hearing a whistle, Enya whipped her brown curls over her shoulder, giving her a clear view. A small smile grew as she winked at the grubby middle aged man behind. As Enya looked away, a disgust mask fell over the cheerful expression. "Please." She hissed, leaning back. The loose black cloth covering her nicely filled chest tightened, exposing more of her cleavage and a flat stomach. Muscle rounded out her shoulders and gave her body a nice curved shape. No man cared enough to notice though, their gaze on the woman's form fitting hip-huggers and bottom package. Sliding off the stool, Enya waltzed over to the jute box, placing in two quarters before changing the song presently playing to 'The Devil Went Down to Georgia' by Charlie Daniels. Thumping her heeled foot to the beat, she patiently waited for a gentleman to come and ask for a dance. It didn't take long, her partner a tall rugged blonde. Smiling flirtatiously, Enya allowed herself to be lead away.

* * *

The smell of chicken hit Dean like a wall as well as air-conditioned cooled air. His eyes went to the number of cooks flipping pans containing food. "You know, this 'vegetarian' thing-well quiet frankly-it's just unmanly." Dean spoke up as Sam and he placed their order for their Chinese meal. Sam acted as if he didn't hear, finishing speaking with the cashier. When the man turned his back to the two, Sam countered, having not wanted to act rude.

"Oh yes, because only manly men eat fatty, greased up chicken with discolored rice."

Dean dipped his head, receiving a sigh from Sam.

"Maybe I don't want to fill my arteries and die early." Sam informed, as he leaned upon the counter for support and crossed the lower part of his legs. His left hand was stuffed into his pocket.

Frowning, Dean shrugged. "I don't have anything to lose now." Once the words left his mouth, Dean froze. Those were the worst choice of words, already seeing the hurt spilling into Sam's eyes and his body stiffening in defiance. Glancing at the workers slaving over the ovens, Dean leaned forward and placed his hand over Sam's. The surrounding sounds dimmed as time seemed to slow, the change in the youth's body and mind evident. "Sam-" Dean started to say before the cashier reappeared.

"Your food is ready. Nine ninety-five."

Cursing the man silently, Dean risked taking his eyes off his lover and paying for the meal. That was his mistake, for Sam took the chance and left the building.

* * *

Sam's heart beat painfully in his chest, hitting his rib cage with every thump. How could Dean say that to him? Did that mean he has given up? Sam refused to think or even believe that Dean will die before he hits thirty because of him. No, Dean's life was going to be saved by Sam, the Winchester would see to it. Still, it hurt to think that Dean did not trust him enough to save him.

A car horn awoke the twenty-six year old out of his reflection, causing him to jump out of the path of a Mustang. Shaking his head a bit, Sam pushed forward, his hands stuffing themselves in his pockets. He couldn't stand seeing Dean at that exact moment, finding himself numb. Tears tried to come forth, but were held back by sheer determination on the Winchester's behalf. The Chinese restaurant had been suffocating, the comfort of the impala calling to him.

Spotting the car, Sam checked his surroundings quickly before ducking inside the passenger seat. The squeak of leather made his tense muscles relax a bit, a breath leaving him. Staring up at the clouds through the windshield, Sam did not even notice Dean approach five minutes later, his brows furrowed in concern and grief as the older sibling pulled open the door and sat behind the wheel.

Silence stretched, the keys left in the ignition. Dean's gaze flickered from the trees in front of him to Sam hesitantly. The youth seemed to be ignoring him, his face ripped of emotion and eyes focused on anything but Dean's face. "I'm sorry; I didn't mean what I said back there." Dean finally spoke, voice cracking. Clearing his throat, the older sibling turned his body, hand going on the wheel while the other elbow rested upon the seat's top. Sam did not move, causing Dean to become flustered. He said he was sorry, and he really hadn't meant to hurt his little brother. "Sam, would you look at me-I'm trying to apologize."

Knowing his brother was close to pleading, which was something Sam could not take no matter how hurt he may be, the Winchester obeyed, craning his head to the left.

"I'm truly sorry-"

Sam dipped his head, a forced smile capturing his lips. "It's alright. Let's just go back to the hotel. We have to look for a case anyway. I'm kinda getting sick of this town."

Dean frowned, brows hitching briefly. "We've only been here for two and a half days. I thought you would like to stay someplace for a change. Plus, this town an't all bad." The humorous tone of his speech had returned, but in the back of his mind, Dean's worry over his lover had not wavered. Seeing that Sam didn't want to talk, the Winchester halted his prodding, turning the key and backing out of the lot. His eyes every once in a while darted to Sam, keeping a constant read on him.

* * *

The boys had hit the hay early that night, their conversations full of things unsaid and hidden meanings. In the darkness of the dingy hotel room, Sam fought the dreams that held his body in a noose, muscles twitching beneath Dean's arm. His face pressed itself into the pillows, sweat beginning to stream from his hairline. Breathing increased as the dream grew in intensity, awaking Dean almost instantly.

"Sammy?" The Winchester called into the stuffy air. His arm tightened, pushing Sam harder against his chest. He could feel the young man struggling against something, his spine bending forward. Eyes widening as incoherent mumble reached his ears, Dean propped himself up on a bent elbow, hand moving to Sam's shoulder and shaking it gently at first. When Sam continued to fidget and moan, Dean growled, forcing the youth on his back. His eyes ran over his brother quickly, knowing he would find no injury that was the cause of Sam's pain. "Sammy?! Sammy wake up!" Dean just about yelled, cupping his lover's cheek and slapping the flesh lightly. "Samm-"

The Winchester was cut off as Sam's body arched, eyes popping open and a loud gasp breaking through the chanting. Limbs tensed as if they were electrocuted, his spine arched before Sam fell lifelessly back onto the mattress.

Placing a hand on Sam's chest, Dean watched him carefully, waiting for his lover to return to reality. The greenish blue orbs darted about, unsure of where they were. Recognition came back slowly, the sight of Dean hovering over him calming Sam.

"There we go, easy baby." Dean soothed, hand sliding from the center of his chest to cup Sam's chin. Stroking his cheek, he noticed the sticky layer of perspiration that had been brought on by the dream coat his thumb.

Sam closed his eyes, his breathing become regular as he forced himself to relax under Dean's caress. Licking his lips, the youth tried to ignore how his boxers stuck to him like a second skin.

"A nightmare?" Dean asked in a quiet voice, brows furrowed in concern.

Images assaulted Sam, his body turning towards the other hunter and face pressing into the sheets. Dean's hand did not stop its movement.

* * *

_Once full of life, Dean's body lay boneless upon the pavement. His mouth was closed, eyes staring forever at the passing clouds above. _

* * *

"Sammy?" Dean repeated, noticing how his lover tensed, muscles vibrating.

"God it seemed so real…" Sam murmured to himself, eyes still squeezed shut as he tried to keep the tears at bay. He thought he had really lost Dean, and that he was the only one left of his family. After his dad had died, Dean had been the one constant that didn't fade.

"What did you dream Sam?" The older Winchester demanded, lying down so he was eyelevel with Sam. His heart was beating rapidly, mind trying to puzzle the answer. Inching closer, Dean kissed his lover on the forehead, hearing Sam's breath hitch.

"I thought-I thought you were dead." He choked, causing Dean's hand to still.

"You dreamed I died?" Dean questioned in a calm tone, though in reality, he found his thoughts swirling too fast in his head.

Sam nodded slowly, breathing through his nose as a drop streamed from his eye.

"Was it a vision or a nightmare?" The Winchester continued to interrogate his lover, needing to know if he should be looking around every corner for a person waiting to put a bullet in his head or continue his life normally. When he saw the tear, it suddenly clicked.

* * *

_Frowning, Dean shrugged. "I don't have anything to lose now." Once the words left his mouth, Dean froze._

* * *

That's what had caused the nightmare. Guilt grew within Dean's gut, making his stomach twist into knots. He had done this to his Sammy. _Shit-you're so fucken stupid Dean!_ He cursed silently, closing his eyes briefly before wrapping his arms around his lover and hugging him to his chest. Sam broke, needing to feel Dean around him more than anything at that moment. "I'm so sorry baby." The older sibling whispered hoarsely, stroking the mop of brown locks. The trembling of Sam's frame spoke of emotional pain, the gasps of breath shaking him further. "I'm right here." His breath was hot against his lover's ear.

Dean did not move until he felt Sam pull from his grasps, the youth hurriedly whipping his cheeks and the evidence of the crime Dean had committed.

"Sorry."

Running a hand down his face, Dean shook his head, rubbing Sam's exposed forearm. "No, it's alright."

Sam closed his eyes, pressing the sheet tighter around his torso as he sunk into the pillow. A headache had chosen to reside in between his eyebrows, pounding in a constant rhythm. Pain was always tiring, as well as emotional break downs. The nightmare had taken its toll, but his lids did not stay closed long for Dean's haunted, empty orbs awaited him, mocking the youth. Dean seemed to notice, his free hand grasping Sam's in a reassuring jester before being tucked against his chest.

"I'm not leaving, I promise. Sleep Sam," The older Winchester stated in a tone that was soft but left no room for argument. His eyes watched Sam, making sure his directions were followed.

Of course, Sam knew that it wasn't that easy. Part of him still couldn't believe that Dean was right beside him while the other knew that voice and knew that the dream was nothing but that; a figment of his imagination. Reaching out, Sam touched Dean's cheek, sniffling.

"I'm-not-going-anywhere." Dean promised, moving closer to Sam and allowing the youth to bury against him as if he was a stuffed animal. Laying his chin upon Sam's head, Dean closed his eyes. "I love you Sammy."

Before either knew it, they were sound asleep, the moon cloaking them within her own embrace.

* * *

Should I continue? Reviews always welcome!


	2. Uncertain Fear

Chapter Two:

_Uncertain Fear_

Feeling the uncomfortable burning behind his lids, Sam groaned. His sleep had been troubled, even with the older hunter's warming embrace. Nerves refused to calm, the head ache a dull throb now. When he realized that he was alone, the sheets haphazardly twisted around him, Sam began to panic. It weaved into his brain, overriding thought. "Dean?" He whispered hesitantly.

"Right here," The Winchester replied in Sam's ear.

Sam closed his eyes in relief, a shiver running down his spine as he lifted his upper torso. His lover sat on the bed's edge, his usual cocky smile replaced with one of a vexed parent.

Leaning forward, Dean looked Sam in the eye. "Tired?" He questioned.

Turning on his side, Sam shook his head, noting the brief intensity of his headache spiking from the movement. Squeezing his eyes shut, Sam waited until the bucking horse's hooves eased in his temple.

The fatigue was not missed by the older sibling, a frown creasing his forehead as he placed a hand on Sam's neck. Dean's fingers messaged the tense muscles. His eyes raked the tanned broad back that was arched in a dip-like bend before settling back on Sam's face. The mop of brown hair covered the Winchester's eyes from view, though Dean was sure they were shut tight. "What hurts?" _A bad dream shouldn't be this bad. Why do you always get the brunt Sammy?_ The thoughts always brought more questions that Dean had no answers to. He was forced to just watch.

Breathing slowly, Sam got his bearings, rolling onto his side so he faced his brother. A hand instinctively went to the bridge of his nose. "My head…" He hissed, feeling the weight of his brother's hand on his shoulder.

Tilting his head slightly, Dean eyed Sam. He couldn't figure why his head was hurting that bad. Unless…. "Maybe it wasn't a nightmare." The thought was scary as hell, seeing that Dean didn't care to die anytime soon. The realization dawned upon Sam's face as well, his eyes meeting Dean's.

"God no…" The younger hunter choked, closing his lids as he felt the prickle of forming tears. _Stop crying! You're no help to him if you just sit here._ He told himself silently, the greenish-blue orbs opening.

"What did you see Sammy?" Dean inquired softly, knowing that the dream had hit his lover hard. They needed some details though, for if this was a vision, then they were losing time.

Swallowing, Sam thought back. It wasn't hard, the memory fresh in his mind despite the hours of sleep. "Uhh-I was in a-we were in a meat factory…."

Dean could tell that the hunter was struggling, patiently waiting for him to finish.

"Some woman, she-she was yelling something about-uhh-her brother being dead…" Clutching his head, Sam tugged at his hair. The more he talked about the dream, the more strength the pounding behind his frontal-lobe had. It was pulsating now, hammers gaining up on the Winchester.

Closing his eyes for a few seconds, Dean climbed in beside his lover, and sat down, legs extending towards the pillows. "Enough Sammy, rest a minute." He ordered, voice no louder than a whisper so Dean didn't damage Sam's condition further. Taking a hold of his shoulder, the older hunter applied some pressure. Sam appeared to be listening, his hands relaxing upon his scalp. His attractive features were twisted in pain. "That bad huh?" Dean winced as Sam only tensed in reply. "Let me go and get some painkillers from the pharmacy down the street." As he went to get up, Sam snatched him arm, yanking him back down with surprising force. Face softening, Dean tried to pry Sam's fingers off.

"You can't if this is a vision! What if the-"

"We don't know if it's a vision and it happens in a factory alright. I'm fine." Dean interjected, knowing that he was speaking logically. Fact was some how easier for Sam to grasp.

Closing his eyes, the younger Winchester sighed in defeat. The headache made it incredibly hard to think. "Okay, just-please be careful."

Dean winked, the corner of his lips curving. "I always am. Now get a little rest while I'm gone." With his arm finally free, he ruffled his lover's hair before snatching the keys and leaving.

Once in the Impala, Dean let his mask slip, a gush of air leaving his lungs. Staring at the motel room door, he listened to the details of the vision repeatedly in his head, trying to make sense of it. There was so little to go on. The Winchesters often found themselves digging through a pile of hay to find one needle. "Maybe it has to do with the murders…" Dean thought out loud, hating how his voice sounded so unsure even to himself. Turning the key, the Impala jumped as it came to life. The engine purred beautifully, always taking the stress of Dean just a little bit. Rubbing the steering wheel, he shifted the gears into reverse and left the parking lot in search of medication.

The absence of his brother was felt by Sam as he lay on his side. The images of the vision, dream, what ever it was, flashed constantly in his head. Why did he have to lose him to the cross-road demon or the woman in the vision? Couldn't God intervene and allow Dean to live? Burying his face in the pillow, Sam felt tears fall. The horrible pain in his head was making everything worse. Bringing his hands up, he pressed the heels of his palms into his brows. "Come on…!" He cursed, the young Winchester moving flat onto his back. With effort, he was able to get himself into a upright position, hating how the motel television moved like it was being rocked by the sea. When the room settled, Sam decided to take it a step further. Swinging his legs over the side of the bed hesitantly, he prepared himself. The vision had taken a lot out of him, fear crippling him as well. He needed to find a way to stop it form happening, or at least get more information. Pushing off the bed, Sam straightened completely. The room decided to stay as it was, not moving back and forth. With newfound belief in his body, Sam walked over to the table in which his laptop waited. He would not be useless and allow these visions to knock him down, not when his brother's life was in the balance.

As Dean opened their room's door, he put on a fake smile, eyes going to the table. He was surprised to see Sam up and off the bed, the headache having been immobilizing before he had left. Wondering what caused the change; he waltzed over and sat, eyeing his brother suspiciously. "How's the head?" He inquired.

Sam looked up over the top of the desktop. The youth hadn't heard Dean come in, green and blue orbs flickering to the door.

"Sam?" Dean repeated, his full attention on his brother now. The younger hunter looked back at him, expression slightly worn.

"Got the drugs?"

Tilting his head, Dean scoffed, hating how his brother tried to avoid the question. It was more than annoying, and the Winchester was looking his patience. "Yes." He answered heatedly, plopping the brown bag onto the table. Sam grabbed it and peered inside. Getting up, Dean grabbed his lover some water, handing it to him. "Now will you please answer my God damn question?" He snapped, unable to help himself.

Sam raised a brow, swallowing the pills down. His headache was not as bad as before but still uncomfortable. For some reason, the throbbing was dulling without medication. Turning to Dean, Sam glared at him, not even looking away as he turned the computer around to face the older hunter. On the desktop was a front page of the town newspaper, murder written in the headlines. "When were you going to tell me about the four suicides and murder cases?" His eyes dared Dean to lie about the topic.

"What? I'm sorry, but you were dead on your feet for the past two days! Why the hell would I worry you about a hunt when you were just starting to sleep normally?" Dean replied with no resentment in his voice, for he was stating fact. Sam of course, found Dean's protection infuriating.

"Look, I understand that you care, but I also pop ghosts and nightmares too. If there is a hunt going on, don't cover it up." Sam shook his head, facing his computer once more. Scratching his head, he examined the article. "Apparently the latest acted differently, says his neighbor before he committed the murder of his wife and two children." Sam glanced at the other Winchester, checking to make sure he was not going to get a punch in the face. He had been slightly harsh, but from his point of view, it was understandable seeing that Dean often lets his protective instincts to take over.

The eldest sibling seemed to be okay, eyes scrutinizing Sam and examining him like that of a doctor. No steam blew from his ears and no red flushed his face. "If you pass out because your 'headache' got to strong, don't expect me to catch your ignorant ass."

Okay, maybe Dean was a little pissed, but nothing Sam couldn't handle. "I'm fine."

"Sure you are Samantha." Dean interjected quickly, eyes going to the article. The Winchester trait of being as stubborn as an ox was the most unbearable one to deal with. Sam had it entwined in every inch of his DNA. "The neighbor saw Mr. Timberlink smoking and drinking outside while his children and wife were presumably within the building. The man had never drank or smoked in his life." Tapping the chair's back with a finger, Dean thought over the info briefly.

"Possession?" The two brothers said in unison, meeting each others gaze.

"Makes sense." Sam retorted.

"Odd behavior and unaccountable motive for the murders-sounds like it." Nodding his head slightly, the twenty-seven year old flopped down into a chair. "Dig up the police report, see what else we find."

Sam agreed, fingers playing across the keyboard.

Dust coated the house's insides, filling the air and giving a piece of the buildings history. It had been left alone, the walls chipping away, the floorboards rotting. No foot prints showed the absence of life. Stepping over a fallen wooden board, Enya eyed the place. Her high boots clinked softly as they moved forward through the haunted house. Hearing glass breaking, the woman turned, finding nothing. "Come on, I know you want a part of this." She taunted, gaze resting on a single picture hanging haphazardly on the wall. Frozen wind whipped at blonde locks of a porcelin skin girl upon a hill of tall green grass.The face of the figure was a mask of white, the human eye unable to find the basic features. White cloaked the girl in a summer dress of age, a wide rimmed straw hat threatening to be blown away ontop of her head. In the surrounding trees, one in piticular stood out amongst the rest. It's dried trunk and jagged branches told of death and inconsideration. A thinning grey string threatened to snap, sending the painting to the ground. "Found ya." Smirking to herself, Enya dug out her small axe from a black duffle bag in the corner of the room and started hacking away at the wall. Sweat beads dotted her hairline by the time she had made a rather large in the middle of the plaster. The axe clanged loudly as it dropped to the floor, echoing off the high ceiling. "I know your going to come sooner or later, so just show up now. It'll be easier on both of us." The huntress stated as she turned, pulling a pistol out of her back and flicking the safety off. Raising a brow, Enya waited patiently. Her foot tapped in a constant beat, hip jutting outward to one side. Abruptly, her limb stilled, gun raised just below eyelevel.


	3. Missing Pieces

**Author's Note:**

WARNING: Oral sex and strong homosexual content in this chapter

* * *

Chapter Three

_Missing Pieces_

Abruptly, a gust of wind kicked up dust as it weaved its way to Enya, leaving a cleaner trail behind. It was almost angelic-like, moving in slow motion, particles falling behind in the form of a tail. The huntress knew better though, aiming her weapon with a smirk upon her lips. Just as she predicted, the spirit began to materialize before her. Pale ghastly toned skinned appeared, following an adult torso and finally, a full body. Pupil-less eyes watched Enya a moment before the spirit opened its mouth to scream, its vocalization replaced with a gun shot from the pistol. The woman's head wavered, colorless hair fading in and out until it was back to it's previous transparency.

"I know, you're immortal, guns don't work." Enya mumbled, shooting the spirit again, this time with rock salt filled bullets. She always loved how the creatures of the other world would shout in surprise, the first shot done with a normal bullet. This spirit was no exception. Walking over to the duffle bag, she reached in and dropped a can of gasoline onto the floor. Lifting her heel, Enya was yanked backwards, flying and hitting the wall with enough force to leave a bruise. Feeling her neck whip back due to the momentum, the she closed her eyes, pain in a flash coursing up her spine and to her head. The wall was did not ease the woman's fall, the huntress's body bouncing towards the spirit and onto the dirty floorboards. "Oh-now you're getting bitch!" Enya growled, standing back up and walking towards the foggy form, anger transferred through the trigger. Her eyelids did not flicker from the blasts, the ghost screaming and taking steps away from the huntress. With one last yelp of pain, the spirit disappeared. Knowing that she wasn't safe yet, Enya held the gun high a couple more seconds. Thankfully, the creepy woman didn't come back. "Okay, time to salt your ass." Spinning on her foot, she quickly poked a circle with her heel in the canister of flammable liquid's front before tossing it through the hole in the wall. Milliseconds later, the flash of a flaming match lit up the room temporarily. "Last but not least…." To complete the ritual and make sure the vengeful spirit didn't come back, Enya poured a considerable amount of kitchen salt onto the bones.

The fire latched onto the dry wood and plaster within the small makeshift grave quickly, smoke soon bellowing from the cut out circle. Grabbing her bag, the huntress packed her possessions, carrying her gun and slinging the duffle bag over her shoulder. As she started to leave she twirled the pistol with her finger, silver reflecting the growing flames behind her. A high pitch yell echoed off the walls, rising above the cackling of burning lumber. With one last attempt, the woman reappeared, the bullet coming alive with a burst of yellow and lodging itself in the spirit's chest. The pistol rotated one more time, halting in the huntress's grip. With hips swining, Enya left the scene, the town never going to miss the old house anyway.

* * *

"No, Marie was cool. An A plus student, you know. I had to practically drag her to this party about two months ago. She was all crazy because there was going to be drugs there." Anna Phillips relayed to the blonde and brown haired reporters before her. Blue eyes glistened, the topic of her friend's death not something she talked about often since she had to speak to the cops about it. Tucking a blonde curl behind her ear, she waited for the taller man to ask her something else, the guy being more talkative than the other who just watched her intently. The silence in the living room made her fidget upon the peach colored sofa.

"Reminds me of someone," Dean blurted, eyes darting to Sam, making the girl jump.

The younger hunter rolled his eyes, going back onto the task at hand. "When you say _crazy_?" Sam cautioned, needing to know what the girl meant. His brows came together in slight confusion.

Anna's eyes widened, hands coming from beneath her elbows and mimicking her head shake in front of her. "No-not like-loony! No!" Dropping her hands, the teen sighed. "No, she was normal-perfectly healthily mentally. I don't know why she would kill herself." At the last sentence, a tear streamed from Anna's right eye.

Sam nodded, clearing his throat, and offering a warm smile. He was always good at making people feel better, Dean noticed. "Hey, that's what we're trying to find out. That's why we're here."

Lifting her gaze, Anna frowned, blinking. "The cops didn't find anything, what thinks you guys can?" She wasn't trying to be rude, but she didn't care to go through these feelings for nothing. Her stare was drawn to the shorter reporter as he leaned forward, hands clasped together.

"They don't know what to look for, we do." He replied simply, face unreadable.

Sam eyed him, worried that he might blow their cover. "What my partner means is that with the evidence from the police reports, and our own investigations, we might be able to aid the cops in finding out what is going on." The younger Winchester interjected. His speech was fast at first before slowing.

Anna stood, hands going up in defense. The hunters could tell she was part Italian. Her limbs moved with her mouth the whole time they were questioning her. "No, you know what? This is crazy! I shouldn't be talking to you. Marie killed herself okay! No question about it. The police even showed me the pictures."

Dean closed his eyes and bit his lip in frustration. Glancing at his brother, he could tell that Sam knew that they lost their source of information-the girl. Marie was going into her shell, sadly.

"Just leave alright? Please." Twisting around, Anna walked away; leaving the Winchester's to walk themselves out.

Sighing, Sam pushed himself up. "That worked. I told you that us being reporters was not going to fly." Turning his head, the youth watched Dean.

"If I remember correctly _college-boy_, you didn't have a plan," Dean retorted heatily as he stood. His eyes darted to the spot where Miss Phillip's had just been with loss. "You think we can still question her mom?"

Gawking at Dean, Sam huffed. "Oh yea, sure," he answered mockingly.

"You know, I don't like your attitude Sam. You better **fix** it before I beat your ass." The older Winchester threatened, looking over his shoulder as he left through the front door. Sam followed behind quietly, having learned hit lesson. Snickering, Dean slid into the front seat and rived up the engine, waiting for his brother to get in.

"Okay, so where to next?" Sam asked out loud, eyes glued to the bush of roses outside the window as they pulled away. Their plump red petals were unfolded, the space between each row larger and larger the further away from the center. The buds and full flowers stood out against the dark green leaves, the prickly stems and branches masked by the drop-shaped flora. The enemy wouldn't know the painful spikes hidden beneath the beauty.

"Wait, you asking me what I think when you just called my last plan dumb?" Dean snapped, features scrunching together. "Uh-huh."

As the bush left the sight of the rearview mirror, Sam faced his lover. His back rested comfortably on the side door, wind ruffling his mop of hair, sneaking through the partly open window. "I didn't call your plan anything." Sam stated blankly, watching Dean with a 'come on' expression. "Stop acting like a baby." Tilting his head to the left, he breathed in the fresh air, eyes closing to take in the full affect of being on the road.

Though the Winchester did not know, Dean tore his gaze from the road, orbs roaming up his lover's languid figure. He looked relaxed, beautiful with the breeze blown hair and peaceful face. It made Dean's lips curve, finding the moment like one in a portrait. The gray short sleeved shirt's edge rose just above his jeans, allowing the beer logo on Sam's boxers to peek. Long legs clad in faded jeans that were baggy but not enough to hide the youth's muscle which poked through the rips and tears. Elbow propped loosely on the window, his other arm was also bent, hand lying on the crown of his thigh.

As a car whizzed by him, Dean licked his lips lustfully, forcing his eyes back on the road. It took all of his will power and energy not to jump his little brother right now.

"I was thinking, sense you are being like a two-year old and don't want to pinch in…that we go to the crime scene of the latest victim and check for sulfur to make sure it's a possession." Sam chimed after a few minutes of silence. Peeling a lid back, he looked at Dean for approval. He was oblivious to the emotional battle going on in his lover's head.

Masking his inner desire, Dean nodded, not trusting his voice to speak. Out of the corner of his eye, he could see Sam's confused expression, deciding to ignore it by turning on the music.

Fifteen minutes later, Dean flipped off the music, easing the car onto the side of the road. Shifting the Impala into park, he tapped the steering wheel with a finger.

"Why did we stop?" Sam spoke up, looking around. There was a building down south but other than that, the surrounding area was trees and pavement.

Dean exhaled, leaning back and gazing at Sam, a spark in his eyes. He waited until Sam was watching him in anticipation before asking, "You want to go to a club?" The question was out of the blue for sure, making Sam cock his head quizzically.

"What? Where did this come from?"

Dean shrugged. "Who cares? You want to or not?" He wanted to-to fuck Sam senseless in the bathroom stall like he had done to some of his one night stands in the past. It was time to show Sam why he is really a 'ladies man'.

Rolling his shoulders nervously, Sam scratched his head. The Winchester never liked the 'party life' and was more stay at home and read type. Still, he could not pour a bucket of water over his brother's fun, not when he had left Dean with a boner the day before. "Fine, but it's not like we can do anything without anyone noticing." He informed, hoping to convince Dean out of his little escapade. "What about the case?"

"We can't check out the scene till tonight, so why not kill some time?" Facing forward again, Dean smirked as he pulled back onto the road.

* * *

Looking up at the neon lit sign; Sam grimaced, already imaging the number of drunken dancers who just love to press their sweaty bodies against him. The club looked reasonable from the outside, but just like a book, you can't judge the dance club by the cover. Dean came behind him, a tooth filled grin on his face. It looked like he just won the lottery. 

"Come on Sammy." Dean chided, pushing Sam forward hastily. Sam complied with a sigh, holding the door open for his brother before entering himself. "Still think we can't do something Sammy?" Dean looked over his shoulder at his sibling, chuckling.

The younger hunter stared wide-eyed at the crowd of men grinding against each other on the dance floor, some going as far as having intercourse with their partner. Moving closer to his brother, Sam stared at his back. He was a little bit scared by everything, feeling more than a tad bit nervous. The Winchester was bisexual, but the only man Sam had ever loved or had feelings for was Dean. Heat entered his cheeks within minutes.

Dean sensed his lover's emotions, the smile slipping from his face. Turning around, he grasped Sam's chin and lifted his gaze. "It's alright. No one will touch you but me, okay?" Sam nodded, a small curve of his lips brightening his features. "Yeah, sorry."

Shaking his head, Dean enclosed Sam's hand with his own, tugging him further into the threshold. Tearing his gaze away, the older Winchester weaved through the crowd to the center. The music was overpowering now, matching his quickly beating pulse. "Oh yes.." Dean murmured, spinning around and with a smooth yank, pulling Sam against his chest. "Relax…let your body tune into the music." He instructed, the Winchester sliding his hands onto Sam's hips and grabbing hold.

Sam bit his lip, unsure of what exactly Dean meant. He trusted him, but still felt uncomfortable in the environment. Suddenly, a man smashed into his back, pressing him harshly against Dean's front. His groin rubbed up the older hunter's jeans, sending a tingling sensation through out his body. Nose buried in Dean's neck, Sam breathed in his scent. It helped calm him.

"Sorry about that. Nice ass by the way." The stranger slurred, winking at Sam.

Dean glared at him, waiting until the man was back with his boyfriend he guessed before grazing his teeth in front of his lover's ear. "Let me move you." He whispered, guiding his brother's hips in a somewhat circular motion. Each movement created friction in all the right places. Fingers pressed along the skin of Sam's sides, slipping under his shirt and up on either side of his spine. The younger Winchester shivered, holding onto Dean tighter.

"Dean…" Sam started, knowing where this was going. They were in public, causing the youth to begin to worry.

Applying pressure to Sam's inner thigh, Dean bit Sam's neck, loving the groan that escaped his lover's lips. His hands came from beneath the tee-shirt and grabbed Sam's buttocks. "Shhh, it's okay. I'm just having some fun." With that said, he thrust against his little brother, lowering his body and doing it once more, his movements following the music like a orchestra.

"Dean…" This time, there was no whinnying, but passion dripping from Sam's mouth, his lips and teeth attacking Dean's neck with vengeance. Blood pumped in his ears, his head heavy and foggy with hunger.

"Whoa tiger…" The older Winchester growled, his own fluids filling himself, causing his member to press against his boxers. Sam's own erection pressed against Dean's with each pump of their hips.

The music began to speed up, the boy's movements increasing. Eyes started watching them, enjoying the scene, finding their own arousal growing.

Pulling from Dean's neck, Sam smashed his lips on his older brother's, grasping the sides of his face. His shoulders inch upwards as they made-out, his lower regions tightening. Closing his eyes, Sam gasped, unable to stop the whimper slipping through his lips as Dean's middle fingers pressed against his opening through the back of his jeans. Trembles racked the youth's body, as he reached his climax. With a loud moan, Sam came in his boxers, limbs becoming elastics, threatening to buckle. A smash of the drums and Dean felt his own orgasm rip through him. Together, the two rested their foreheads together, whistles and calls erupting around them. The song ended, the crowd hooting loudly enough to drown out the next beat.

"Looks like we made a scene," Dean whispered hoarsely, holding onto his lover. His chest heaved behind the fabric, matching Sam's own breathing patterns.

Sam nodded, mouth a gap. His lungs craved oxygen more than anything right then, unable to form words for what he just experienced.

Opening their eyes, the Winchesters stared at one another briefly, sucking comfort from each other's gaze.

"Let's give it up for the couple! You know you almost creamed in your pants just watch'en them!" Screamed the announcer, a beam of light whizzing through the throng to settle on the brother's, basking them in a white glow.

Sam chuckled, stepping back but not losing all contact by keeping a firm hold on Dean's hand. Looking up, he shook his head, running his free hand through his shaggy brown hair.

"Thank you, thank you very much!" Dean mimicked, sounding like Elvis. Grinning, he winked at Sam, already gently tugging him in the direction of the bar. The two were sweaty as hell by the time they sat on the rotating stools. The music was now a low buzz, words unable to be made out over the blaring background of instruments.

Walking over, the bartender handed two beers. "On the house." She murmured.

Dean took a gulp before speaking, checking the girl up and down. Her bleach blonde hair and tanned body spoke of the pricy type, nails long and fake. "I didn't know they hired girls." He retorted, glancing at Sam with a raised brow. _Especially in a gay dance club._ Dean added silently.

The bartender with a name tag reading 'Adriana', Sam noticed, smirked. "What can I say? I find you guys cute and not to mention, HOT." Licking her lips, the girl left to attend other customers.

"That was weird." The youngest hunter blurted once Adriana was out of ear shot. Sam nursed his beer with a hand, head going from side to side lightly.

Dean scoffed, turning his body to the side. "Come on, it's a compliment. What's weird about a compliment?" Tilting his head back, he greedily drank the liquid from the glass while he waited for his lover to answer.

"Never mind Dean," Sam sighed, looking around the place. His eyes strayed to a black and blonde haired pair, one of the men being shirtless and exposing his rock hard muscles. "How did you find this place anyway? I never figured you for the 'gay scene'." Swallowing as the taller male dipped his hands in his partner's pants, Sam forced himself to look back at Dean.

"Hey, don't get me wrong. I don't usually hang out here all the time-but-that doesn't _mean_ I don't know of these types of clubs. I mean, hello? I am the guy everyone wants, male or female. Of course I've been everywhere." The Winchester boasted with a 'duh' expression on his handsome face, receiving a roll of greenish blue orbs in response.

"Well, I'm glad you brought me." Sam said in a quieter, sexier tone. Wetness clung to his crotch in the form of a reminder or mark of their time spent here.

Dean leaned forward, breath hot against Sam's lips. The smell of beer was thick, sending an invisible spider down the Winchester's spine, the youth squirming. "So am I. Now how about we go and get cleaned up? We still have a house to break into."

Glancing down, Sam nodded. A steaming shower image with Dean and him formed in his mind.

* * *

Night cloaked the house in shadows and a haunting eerie gloom. Its blue painted shutters were peeled away, leaving windows to absorb the dim light of the moon within the cloud filled sky. White paneling was met the black squares that covered the pointed roof. A red brick chimney spouted no puffs of gray smoke, the building looking monstrous almost. Yellow tape blocked entrance, a straight line going from tree to tree along the length of the property. Flowers trailing from the sides of the front door spoke of a feminine touch that the house was now absent of. 

The black Chevy Impala parked on the street alerted the night of another's presence, the Winchesters stepping out from either side.

"No crickets…" Sam hummed, squinting at the place of investigation. He ducked inside the vehicle while Dean walked up the tape.

"You know…I never understood why they put this 'do not enter' crap up." The older hunter mumbled, slipping under the tape within half a second. "I mean, anyone could just come up and snip snip and they would be through." Hearing a door shut, Dean lifted his gaze to his brother who now carried a flash light and small bag that was over his back.

"The tape isn't there to block you out Dean. It's there to warn you that a police investigation is going on and the area is not to be disturbed." Sam explained slowly, stooping under the yellow boarder and continuing onward.

Dean scoffed, following his brother. "Just don't try to take over the world. Hitler tried it and look what happened to him..."

The brown haired youth stopped in his tracks, twisting his torso slightly so he could see Dean. "What?" He asked, confused at what in God's name was coming from the other man's mouth.

"Oh come on! You don't remember Pinky and the Brain?" Dean said in shock, "You know, with the dumb rat and the genius one who wanted to rule the world from his little cage-headquarter place?"

Sam exhaled through his nose, letting out a dry laugh at his brother's child-like behavior. Not even bothering to reply to that, the Winchester hurried over to the front door.

_Loser…_ Dean thought to himself, stuffing his hands into the pockets of his leather jacket. Mocking the youth, he muttered to himself the whole way, only stopping as he reached the blue square piece of wood. His eyes scanned the area, waiting as Sam picked the lock.

* * *

With a click, and 'got it', the two were in, disappearing behind the closing door. 

Warm colors and decorations seen even in the dark hid the secret that the house now holds dear. The welcoming surrounds did not reach either Winchester as he eyed the place for clues to what had really killed Michel Timberlink, not to be mistaken with the pop music star, and his family. Climbing the steps to the upper level, Sam took out his flash light, handing Dean the camcorder.

"Let's see if this guy is sloppy or professional…" The shorter hunter remarked, turning the electronic on and beginning his sweep of the living room.

Flashing the beam into the kitchen, Sam motioned to the bed rooms down the hall, heading slowly towards them. His eyes went from family portrait to single pictures of the Timerlink family, smiles printed upon their faces. Turning his head, Sam stared through the doorway at the parent's bedroom. Blood marred the sheets of the queen sized bed, crimson staining each pillow fully. Scrunching his nose at the smell, Sam reluctantly stepped in, coming beside the bed. As he did so, he noticed the large amount of red splattered on the cream carpet. "Shot himself on the side…" The hunter concluded to himself, lifting his gaze before glancing over his shoulder. As suspected, a hole about two and a half inches in circumference showed that the bullet had exited Michel's head and lodged itself in the plaster. Tilting his head, Sam went through the list of guns in his head. "357?" The youth guessed out loud, resuming with the rest of his investigation. He found no trace of sulfur, moving onto the daughter's room. Like the last bedroom, the window sills, floor, walls and furniture were clean.

"Find anything?" Dean's voice drew Sam's attention, the younger Winchester answering with a shake of his head. Dean snapped his fingers in anger.

"So maybe he did snap and kill his wife and kids?"

Sam crossed his arms, facing his brother. "No…I don't think so." He looked about the room as if trying to find the answer with his sight.

Brows furrowing, Dean's eyes darted about. "Why?" He dragged out.

"Cause…I have this feeling…and it…it's not right." Sam stuttered, trying to make sense of what he was thinking and his reaction to this whole case. Seeing Dean's blank stare, he knew we was being understandable. "Just, we have to look into it more okay?"

Licking his lips, Dean shook his head in confusion before sighing and throwing his hands up in the air. "Fine, what ever. Let's just get out of here. This place smells…" Plugging his nose, the Winchester headed back to the car.

* * *

For a couple of minutes, Sam stood where he was, unsure of what or why everything didn't connect. It was a puzzle that his mind had figured out but left him out of the finished image for some reason unknown to the youth. He hated not being able to tell his brother what was going on but in truth, he has no opinion. All Sam knew was that he needed to solve these murders and suicides somehow. "Why have the gift if it works against you…" The Winchester muttered, leaving the room. His eyes took one last look at the blood filled comforter of the little girls' beds. 


	4. Painful Pasts

Chapter Four

_Painful Pasts_

"You would be surprised Butch," Enya replied cockily, wincing as pressure was applied to the back of her head with an ice pack. It had been hours after she had smoked the vengeful female spirit in the rickety old house that was now reduced to a pile of ash. That gave the little bump on her head time to increase in size, becoming a small golf-ball sized lump under her locks. _Still, it was nothing to be fussing about_, the huntress thought to herself, holding the ice pack and turning around in her chair. Her gaze met that of a slightly pissed Butch. His black muscles bulged with his arms bent, his hands on either side of his hips like a mother scolding her child. The man was decent looking; not someone you would think violent in any manner. Of course, not many knew of what he really did for a living other than owning a small gun company. Towering over Enya even when she wore heels, Butch was around seven feet tall, not a speck of fat on his bones. Despite his exterior, the man was pretty much a saint, caring for the huntress like the daughter he never had.

"Yea, well, you were lucky this time Enya. The next ghost you want to fight by yourself won't be so easy and you'll end up with your insides gutted out." The man sighed, sitting down across from the huntress. The room was empty except for a couple of gun-part-making machines and a fridge along with some chairs. A storage compartment owned by Butch himself made it easy for them to store their weapons and supplies for ghost hunting. It was their safe get away when they needed to lay low, or in this case, work on some injuries that needed repair.

"Nice image." Enya retorted sarcastically, cocking her head and staring at Butch. He was still trying to glare at her, his mask slipping with each passing second. "How about this? Next time, I **promise** to phone you before I go in. Deal?"

Butch frowned, contemplating before giving in and rubbing his forehead tiredly. "Alright, but you better call or I'll put you on a _leash_ and tie you to my _hip_." The threat was meant to scare the woman, but Enya only grinned, bobbing her head as much as she could with an ice pack resting upon it. "You are going to give me gray hairs, you know that Enya?" A smile broke across Butch's lips, chuckles rumbling in his chest.

Winking, the huntress stood and placed the bag of ice back in her friend's hands. "That's what partners are for; annoying the hell out of each other." A buzzing interrupted the two, Enya walking over to a small counter against the wall and picking up a silver flip-phone. Glancing at the screen, her gaze flickered to Butch as she put it against her ear. "What do you got for me Mike?"

"A case in Sedona. Some spirit-I think-is killing off relatives." The male voice boomed from the receiver, loud enough for anyone in the warehouse to hear.

"Sedona as in Sedona, Arizona?" The huntress confirmed, gaze darting to Butch once more.

"Don't know any other." Mike replied. Clearing his throat, the informant continued in a softer and gentler tone. "The Winchester's are there too, according to our reports."

Enya's face lost most of its color, eyes closing as memories broke through the locked box in her mind. It was like a slideshow, the scenes having been viewed from her eyes. It had been only a couple months, yet the movies were still fresh, continuing to sting the woman with each reoccurrence.

"What is it Enya?" Butch interrupted, breaking the silence of the large room. His torso leant forward as he tried to read her face. The hunter had an inkling of the cause of such a drastic change in his partner. When the huntress only stood in reply, Butch took action, taking the phone from her hand and continuing the conversation for her.

"Are you sure?" He whispered, hand running over his scalp nervously.

Mike scoffed, "Yea I'm sure." Pausing, the man calmed himself down. "Does she still want the job?"

Before Butch could let out a word, Enya ripped the device from her partner's ear and brought the receiver just within kissing distance. "We'll do it Mike." The woman swallowed the lump in her throat, ignoring her partner's disapproving stare. She wanted to get on with her life, not be held back by the one event. "Give me the 411." With that, the job began.

Hardly any wind pressed against the Chevy Impala as it cruised through the streets surrounding the high dessert town. Small, dark leafed bushes covered the sand and dirt like a field of wheat, the foliage rising up to meet the oddly shaped mountains of carved red rock. As Sam watched the scene change beyond the open window, he found himself in awe. The dry landscape was a picture of beauty even in harsh conditions, filling the minds of painters and forming upon canvases of famous artists. Having been mostly driving around in the center of town, the Winchester was only able to see man made scenery. The sight was pretty but nothing compared to the untouched view before him.

"Hunting can't be all bad, especially if you get to see places like this…" Dean mumbled from the driver's seat, fingers drumming lightly upon the leather cover of the wheel. His eyes also took in the sights, flickering to their surroundings occasionally. Sam glanced at him, brows furrowing.

"I never said I hated hunting, just wouldn't mind a normal life." The younger sibling said quietly, as if restating a known fact.

"It is beautiful isn't it?" Dean continued, sympathizing with Sam on the subject and not wanting to start an argument.

"Yea, it is." The other hunter agreed, choosing to also ignore his brother's retort. Leaning back into his seat, Sam turned his head towards his lover. "So, how long till we reach the precinct?"

Dean glanced at the clock. "Fifteen minutes."

Nodding, the brown haired youth winced, a spike of pain shooting to his head from the motion. Lifting a hand, he messaged the area. _Not another vision…please._ Sam thought to himself, quickly putting up a mask as his brother met his gaze. His hand dropped before Dean caught what he was just doing.

"Being reporters should work this time, seeing as we are dealing with cops."

Sam frowned, unsure of Dean's reasoning. "Cops aren't dumb Dean." He retorted in monotone, his features hardening.

The older Winchester scoffed, giving the other hunter an odd look. "Come on, you can't seriously be defending their asses?! We could kick their butts any day, knowing what we know and doing what we do." He mocked, confidence beaming from his form. Taking his eyes off the road, he waited for his brother's reply with a raised brow.

"That doesn't mean anything other than that they didn't grow up a solider! Dad made sure we could kick ass!" Sam snapped, finding Dean's smugness more than unjustified. God, his head ache was getting worse with each word.

"_What the hell_-what does **Dad** have to do with any of this?!" The older Winchester shouted back, his anger rising with his brother's. Swerving the Impala onto the side of the road, he faced the passenger seat. "You know he had to if he wanted his sons to live past the age of fifteen." Dean continued tiredly, their father being an area of mixed emotions. Sam acted as if he was ignoring him, eyes on the mountains outside the open gap of the window. As Dean stared at him, he realized that the lengthy hunter was paler, his skin turning into an off white.

"Just a migraine," Sam rushed, feeling his lover's orbs boring into him. He didn't want to see Dean's concern, his worry. It made the Winchester fill with guilt. Squinting, he brought his hidden hand to the corner of his eye, pressing against the region tenderly.

Dean wasn't fooled, not even having to see the movement to know that this wasn't some 'head ache'. All regards to the fight fell away, a switch turning on within him. "Why didn't you tell me? You know stuff like that is anything but normal..." His voice dropped a couple notches, body inching forward. Sam continued to rub his temple, grimacing. "_Sam_?" Reaching a hand out, Dean took hold of his brother's shoulder, taking his silence as an opening to play the comforter.

"Yea…uh-what?" Sam stuttered, voice breaking. It was hard to perceive sound with the consistent drumming in his head, thoughts becoming muddled and useless. Brining his other hand up, Sam inhaled sharply, holding his breath. The action only caused his mind to threaten to explode.

"You got to breathe Sammy, come on." Dean whispered, straddling his lover. The movement might seem sexual to another pair of eyes, but the Winchester did not intend to do anything other than help his brother get over the pain. Bending forward, Dean covered his lover's hands with his own, the appendages constricting so Sam knew he was there. "Is it a vision?"Seconds later, his brows furrowed when Sam pressed the back of his head into the seat, spine arching . The pattern the youth was experiencing was nothing Dean had ever witnessed before, the visions usually not so long but more of a split second thing.

"No…headache…ahh!" An invisible knife stabbed into Sam's forehead, his body losing all its energy against the battle raging inside his mind. Feeling tears come to the surface, Sam began to hit his palms in a repetitive pattern below his hairline. He just wanted the pain to stop, why wouldn't it stop?

"Sam!" Dean shouted as he brother beat himself, his worry climbing with each dull thud. Quickly he grabbed hold of skinny wrists, halting the assault.

Lifting his head, Sam squeezed his eyes shut before he met the older hunter's gaze, a glistening trail flowing down each cheek. Agony was expressed through his eyes, his body sagging forward. "Dean…" Sam choked, closing his eyes as his brother embraced him, allowing the hurting youth to bury his face in his tee-shirt.

"I'm so sorry Sam." Dean cooed into his lover's ear as he held his head and rubbed the tense muscles forming between his shoulder blades. Sam moaned, his back hitching as he let out a sob. "Come on, lets move you to the back seat okay? There you won't be so crammed." His voice was soft and smooth, not wanting to harm his lover any further. Sam nodded his head, the act small and barely noticeable. Slipping his two limbs underneath the younger hunter's arm pits, Dean opened the car door. The light that entered through made Sam flinch, burying himself deeper into the shelter of Dean's chest. "I got you." The simple turning of his torso sent Sam's mind spinning, his stomach twisting into knots.

Now standing outside the car on the side of the road, Dean prepared for the hardest part of the whole process. Holding his lover close, he brought his lips to the youth's ear. "We're going to stand now, okay? Try to take some of the weight if you could."

Sam bobbed his head, the hammer feeling as if it was breaking through bone and tissue in his forehead. He half expected to feel blood running down his face any minute. Hands grabbed onto Dean's shirt, fists bunching fabric.The edlest Winchester slid Sam's legs over the car's side. The poor youth's breath came out in ragged gasps as he squeezed his eyes shut. No one could correctly describe the sensation of being lifted, gravity making its presence known as it tugged at Sam's mind. It was like spinning around on a tire swing with your eyes closed, the invisible hand holding you and threatening to pull you off. In the Winchester's case, it was pure agony. Strong arms were the only thing keeping Sam from buckling and collapsing to the dirt. Clinging desperately to Dean's form, the hunter swallowed down the bile. The feeling did not disappear though, his face paling extremely. His stomach rolled...

"Whoa!" Dean hissed as Sam suddenlydry heaved , body jerking with the motion. The hunter was still facing Dean's chest. Glancing down the strip of the two way state route, the Winchester gritted his teeth. Sam was losing his energy fast, leaning almost completely on the older sibling. Fearing that his little brother was going to indeed puke, Dean eased him onto the ground. Sam's body was like weak plastic, his back never leaving Dean's chest as they lowered themselves. The cool breeze blew against them, calming Sam's stomach as he sat there. "There, just relax." Dean cooed, an arm secured around his lover's abdomen while his hand smoothed the sticky bangs from the youth's forehead. Sam held tightly to the leather covered forearm in front of him, trying not to heave. Nothing he had ever gone through had been as bad as this head ache. What was worse was that there was no reason for having it. Unlike a vision, the pain had no cause and did not help save some unlucky victim from a horrible death.

Kissing Sam's neck, Dean sighed, hating to see his lover in so much pain. He didn't even understand what the hell was going on for that matter, leaving him frustrated and useless. So many times he had felt that cold pit in his stomach, ice slowly coating his heart. It brought back memories that haunt his dreams, imprinted like ink on a page.

_The once moving Winchester now lay limp upon the old mattress, his hands folded properly on his midsection. No worry lines marred his face, color gone from his lips and his hair brushed neatly to the sides of his eyes. If no one saw the blood stains collecting beneath him, they would never know he was dead. A fact Dean knew too well as he watched his little brother's immobile chest. Tear stains coated his cheeks, eyes red rimmed and face pale with grief….._

_Sam suddenly cries out, hands going to his head as pain shoots through his head. At once Dean is at his side, holding his shoulders as he crumbles to the ground. Eyes squeezed shut, a small groan slipping from his lips…._

_Tears flow from the younger Winchester's eyes as he stares at his human God. Red flushed his cheek bones, hand extended outward. "Give me the gun Dean, please." Those six words almost killed Dean right there, his grip tightening on the pistol in his grasp. How could he let his brother kill an innocent when Dean's mind screamed to sweep him up in his arms and carry him away? A sniffle echoed off the kitchen walls, a thunderous beat within his chest muffling out sound. Movements slowed with sorrow, the eldest Winchester placing the gun in Sam's waiting hand, a hand that would soon pull the trigger and murder an innocent woman. She was a werewolf, but to Sam, she was a regular person with a problem. If only Sam would let him take this one for the team…_

_Flashing lights lit up the neighborhood, the once quiet street buzzing with activity in the late night. Stars hovered above a burnt home, the same house that once held happiness and joy, now only expressing the broken life Sam Winchester lead. Within the rumble was the unidentifiable body of Jessica More. Beyond the fire trucks and yellow tape was the victim of the whole 'tragedy'. As Dean watched his brother, he felt his breath catch, unsure of what to say or if he could really say anything that would help the youth at all. Silently, the short haired hunter walked over to his brother, eyes glancing at the open trunk briefly before settling on Sam's face. A single diamond fell off his chin, the gun clicking as it was put back together. The dull thud almost made Dean flinch, the rifle blending into the rest of the weapons…_

"Dean?" Sam whispered, the petting ceasing on his forehead and leaving exposed flesh for which the wind to attack and freeze his brain. The Winchester's eyes were still closed, his head throbbing with each pump of blood. Exhaustion kept him from moving though, despite his worry for his brother's apparent mental absence. "Dean…" Sam repeated, his voice hoarse. Abruptly, Dean sighed, lifting his brother's back slightly before lowering it, the youth following the movements of the eldest Winchester's diaphragm.

"I'm here Sammy, I'm here…" Dean replied, finding himself tired and weary. Returning with the caressing, he pecked the side of Sam's head.

"You…you okay?" Swallowing, the younger hunter had to pause before finishing his question, Dean tightening his hold.

Was he okay? That was a new one. "I'm fine, how are you fairing College Boy?" The joke was meant to get a reaction and take Sam's mind off the pain, his muscles trembling from it. When he received none, Dean leaned back. His eyes fell on his little brother's ghastly but still handsome features.


	5. Tormenting Terrors

Chapter Five

_Tormenting Terrors_

Darkness called to him, his mind wanting to escape the pain that was collecting behind his skull. Soft fingers threaded through his brown locks, bringing Sam back from his fall into unconsciousness. His lids opened just enough to see the blurry image of his older brother staring at him.

"Stay with me for a little while Sammy." Dean ordered supplely, wrapping his arm once more around Sam's chest. The youth's limp form sagged against him.The precinct was gone from his mind, his little brother in no shape to be going anywhere but in a nice warm bed. Dean's lips pecked the side of Sam's forehead, a smile curving his mouth as his brother tilted his head towards him.

"Head…" The ill hunter whispered, unable to finish. His chest heaved with the single word, fingers moving as he tried to massage the pain away.

"I know, I know. Lets get you back to the hotel." The blonde haired Winchester hugged Sam to his front with a forearm, using his free limb to push his butt off the ground. For a brief minute, he tipped, trying to find balance. Sam was heavy, his muscle mass weighing a hell of a lot when it came to dead weight. Dean wasn't the only one having trouble though, a moan torn from his lover's lips as he threatened to topple forward. "Jeesh, don't try to help Sam, I got it." Dean cursed, unable to keep the frustration at bay. Its not easy trying to get an uncooperative, well built, taller man in a car. The longer Dean spent standing, the harder it became. Reaching for the door, he hastily yanked it open, side-stepping over to the vehicle. His silent companion was starting to worry him. "Alright, in we go." Holding the back of Sam's neck, Dean lowered the lanky body of his younger brother into the passenger seat. With a sigh, he took hold of Sam's legs and lifted them inside. The resounding slam as he shut the door made Dean wince.

For a couple of minutes, Dean stood beside the car, allowing the cool breeze to calm his frayed nerves. Now matter how many times he witnesses one of Sam's vision, they never got easier to deal with. Sighing, the Winchester jogged to the other side of the car, slipping into the driver seat. His eyes remained on Sam as he started the Impala. The poor kid was slumped against the window, hands clutching his hair. His tense posture told the older sibling that he was conscious.

"Sammy?" Dean called quietly; hating how his brother's back was painfully arched. Leaning over, he held on to the steering wheel as he closed his hand over Sam's own. He could feel the drawn out muscles beneath the flesh. "Why don't you lay in my lap, huh? Come on." Dean winced as he heard the hitch in his lover's breath. Moving his grip down to Sam's wrist, he pulled. Slowly, the youth straightened, hands never leaving his hair. Abruptly, he began to fall away; Dean's other hand shooting from the steering wheel to take hold of Sam's right shoulder. "Easy baby."

The tone of his voice was soothing, Sam relaxing faintly and gathering enough strength to support his weight as he was lowered gently on onto Dean's lap. Immediately, the Winchester nudged his cheek into his older brother's thigh. A tear rolled down from the corner of Sam's eye, soaking into the rough jean beneath him. The pain just wouldn't end.

Stroking the soft messy locks away from Sam's face, Dean kept his other hand on the wheel, soft words and encouragements slipping from his lips. Every couple of minutes he spared a glance to gouge the younger hunter. How many moments was he going to have like this one? Shaking his head slightly, Dean reached for the volume dial on the radio, turning it down another notch. His chest vibrated as he hummed Metallica quietly. Fingers absently brushed away the stray tears from Sam's face, his breathing calm and even as he slept. The car could always put him asleep, the Impala having that effect of Sam. At least, in his sleep, the poor kid could not be assaulted by the pain in his head. That, to Dean's frustration, could not be eased with medication. The source of it was also a mystery, haunting the two. "Nothing is ever easy for a Winchester…" Dean exhaled rather annoyingly. As he turned the car smoothly into the parking lot of the low-grade hotel, he felt some relief enter him. Now, at least, Sam could be out of others sights and free of the environment of sound. Here, Dean had control. That was the most important thing for his little brother. Since they couldn't direct the pain, they were forced to settle with changing their surroundings.

Shutting the car off, Dean tilted his chin down, smiling at the peaceful youth. "Hate to do this to ya buddy, but we gotta move." Gripping Sam's shoulder, the older Winchester shook it.

"Mmm…" Sam groaned, the blissful darkness leaving him wide open to shots of pain. Pressing his forehead and left eye into the jean, he tried to hide from the flickers of light that burned through his skull as well as the unbearable discomfort. The warm hand tugging hair from his face eased the tension in his body faintly, Dean's presents always making things better no matter how crappy the situation seemed.

"There's my Sammy!" The quick glimpse of brown orbs brought a gentle curve to the other hunter's mouth, arms linking under Sam's form as he cradled him in the crook of his elbow. Sweat beads dotted the young man's brow, face pale from exhaustion the pain was bringing. "Your not going to be able to walk, are you?" Sam only hissed in response as his back arched. _Oh Sammy._ Dean thought to himself as he pushed open the side door with a grim expression. With difficultly he hefted his brother upwards from the vehicle, grunting under his weight.

Sam's equilibrium spun as he felt himself being carried like a child out of the Impala. His head weakly lolled back against Dean's upper arm, teeth clenched. No energy was left in his limbs, his body wiped out. Even thinking hurt. All he wanted to do was sleep forever, feeling agitated and weak. The emotions fueled the fire that combated the headache, the effort futile. Abruptly, his feet were lowered, Dean's breathe in his ear. The moment his shoes touched the ground his legs collapsed, hands snatching up bunches of fabric in front of him as he tried to stay on his feet.

"Just gotta open the door…" The soothing voice cooed, Dean's arm holding his middle back.

Resting his cheek on the other hunter's shoulder, Sam waited as patiently as he could, his breathes slow and repeatitive as he tried to breathe through the throbbing. The thin material of his short sleeved shirt stuck to his back from his own perspiration, his skin feeling dirty and disgusting. The shower was out of his reach though, seeing that he couldn't even stand on his own. Thankfully, the click of the door opening was heard, Sam's grip becoming increadibly tight as he prepared for the oncoming nausea. Just as he predicted, bile threatened to choke him as his body was tenderly lifted from the ground, the increase in grumbles announcing Dean's struggle. The warm air of the hotel room was welcoming. Before Sam knew it, the back of his legs hit the bed, knees bending instantly to accommodate the sitting position. Sliding his hands to Sam's shoulders, Dean created some space between them, still allowing his little brother's head to be supported by his shoulder.

"Any better baby?" The blonde haired Winchester inquired, sympathy pouring from him. The stubble of his cheek scratched along side Sam's own, the tip of his nose buried in the soft curls in front of his ear. Dean's eyes closed at the reply his partner gave, the choked whimper breaking his heart. Licking his lips, he placed Sam's arms above each shoulder before pulling him close. "Alright, how about we get you to bed then? Huh?" Knowing he wasn't going to get a response, Dean eased Sam onto the bed.

The younger Winchester fisted his hands and pressed his knuckles into his forehead. The head ache was really getting too much to handle. Still the images have not come, this whole mess having no advantages. That was something that Sam couldn't understand. Feeling rather than seeing Dean's shadow in front of him, Sam forced his hand to grope from his lover's. The cool flesh against his burning hot skin was comforting and chilling.

"Let me close the shades a minute. Stay right here." That comment would have a caused an eye roll from his baby brother normally, the lack of motion only confirming Dean's suspicions about how bad the situation was. Giving Sam's hand a squeeze, he quietly pulled down the dirtied cloth over the rather large window, eyes scanning their surroundings briefly. He probably would have the habit till the day he died. With the rays of light blocked, the room was cloaked in a reassuring blackness. If only the lack of light would bring relief to the older Winchester, his anxiety building higher and higher with each minute that his lover stayed curled in a ball upon the sheets.

Letting out a breathe, Dean tried to hide his concern, knowing that he needed to have a brave face and be his brother's dock while he fought the rough seas. The chairs legs scuffled across the carpet as the hunter dragged it to the bed's side. It would be his spot for the rest of the day and night, or however long Sam was in discomfort. A small smile broke upon his pretense, eyes resting on Sam's hand as it scrambled for his own. It felt good to know his brother depended on him. It meant that he could play a small role in this tragedy. "I'm right here Sammy." He cooed, the Winchester taking hold of Sam's hand and bringing it to his lips. Pecking the tender flesh of his lover's fingers, he silently urged him to not give up. "Try to get some sleep okay?" The request brought back fond memories of little Sammy, one sticking out above the rest.

_A deep ache had settled in Dean's limbs as he slid under the covers. Soft sheets tickled the bare flesh of his chest and the fine hair on his legs. Sleep was more than welcoming, the Winchesters having spent a week researching and hunting down a Weindigo. The thing was one nasty son-of-a-bitch, leaving a nasty claw mark on the fifteen year old's back. It itched, which was better than the burning sensation but harder to ignore. _

_Licking his lips, Dean pushed the little dislikes away. Lids fluttered close as he tuned his brain into the familiar pattern of slumber. A scenario of sexy woman parading around in skimpy bathing suits hypnotized his mind, a small smile gracing his youthful face. Soon enough, he was knocked out cold... _

_"Dean!" _

_The shrill cry snapped the blonde haired Winchester awake, senses precise despite the puffy lids and dazed look. Turning towards Sam's bed, he ran a hand over his cheeks. The twelve year old was upright, chest rising and falling at a rapid pace. _

_Switching into 'older brother' mode, Dean stood, crossing the distance between his brother and him within seconds. Time was everything. The faster Dean could chase Sam's fears away, the quicker they can both go to sleep. "Sammy..." The Winchester called softly, climbing in beside his trembling sibling. Sammy shook his head, covering his eyes with his palms. "Come here." Stretching an arm around the youth's shoulder, Dean embraced him, dragging the small child down until they were both flat on their backs. _

_Sam at once molded into his older brother's side. _

_"Shhh...It's going to be all right." Nuzzling his nose into the mop of hair, Dean inhaled. "Try to get some sleep...okay? I'll be right here..." _


	6. Resolution

Chapter Six

_Resolution_

Hours passed and still Sam had not awoken, worry creasing Dean's forehead in a permanent frown. Limbs begged for movement, the Winchester standing guard upon a wooden chair far too long. Anxiety kept Dean where he sat despite the discomfort. "Sammy baby..." He whispered, a hand reaching over the bed and brushing the brown locks from his little brother's eyes. The youth's silhouette was painted in the dull light of the lamp between the beds. Smooth flesh glowed, sparking a small smile on Dean's lips. Sam looked like a fallen angel, innocent and pure. Delicate lashes hovered above prominent cheek bones, mouth slightly parted. Unable to resist, the hunter leaned forward, planting a feather-light kiss.

Pulling back Dean opened his eyes, hazel orbs meeting chocolate brown ones that had been shielded from the older Winchester's gaze for the last four hours. Darkness had fallen, the night coming to life within the moons glow.

Sam's lids flickered as he spoke one word with a faintly husky tone. "Dean..."

The blonde-haired hunter leaned forward once more, caressing Sam's cheek with the rough pad of his thumb. It felt so good to hear the youth's voice that Dean felt his eyes prickle with relief, tears forming. _God I missed you._ The older hunter thought to himself silently, conveying his feelings through his features. The harsh mask that the Winchester used to wear had worn incredibly thin since he sold his soul for Sammy. Touching and chick-flick moments were no longer avoided. Having gone through so much had left an impact on the Winchesters. "How are you feeling?" Dean inquired after a couple of minutes, hand never leaving Sam's face.

Squeezing his eyes shut, the youngest sibling was reminded of the off and disturbing hammer in his skull. The void that he had awakened from had protected him from the pain, from reality. Now the walls were breached and filled with the despair of the situation. No vision, no nightmare, no reasons for the headache. Forcing himself to answer, Sam allowed himself to not lie to his lover. "Exhausted…." He whispered, gazing upwards. Swallowing, he winced as chips of glass seemingly cut his throat.

Before he could even open his mouth, Dean stood, grabbing a water bottle from the table. The simple act caused warmth to spread through Sam's heart, a flicker of a smile passing his lips as he tipped the bottle against his mouth. The cool liquid felt sensational as it traveled down his throat, the sore tissue soothed for at least a couple of minutes.

"Take some of these too." Placing circular pills in Sam's hand, Dean sat back on the chair, watching his lover.

Jugging the pills down with the drink, Sam laid back against the sheets. His lids began to feel heavy, weighs slowing being added to them. It sprinkled water upon the seed of anxiety building in the pit of his stomach. Forcing himself to stay on his side and not fall flat on his stomach, he cleared his throat. "Precinct?" The inquiry was simple, the older Winchester already knowing what his lover meant.

Raising a brow, Dean eyed Sam quizzically. "No…brought you straight here." He answered, unsure if he should be the one asking Sam obvious questions. Maybe, there was more than just a headache knocking the youth off his feet.

"Just the headache, I promise Dean." Sam blurted out, causing his lover's eyes to snap back to his face. The scrutinizing inspection made the hunter feel weaker if possible. Though right now, he didn't think he could even sit up if he wanted to.

"I'm sorry kiddo; you just scared me back there." Dean replied softly, entwining his fingers with Sam's outstretched hand. The warm touch made him shiver, his mind already flashing images of his lover upon a bed, his skin pale with death. Tearing himself away from the awful memory, the Winchester centered on the 'here' and 'now'. His task came apparent with the fearful look in his lover's eyes, begging him to find answers. "Hey, we'll find out the reason okay?" Dean coaxed, using his free hand to rub Sam's shoulder reassuringly.

Smiling awkwardly, the youth nodded, giving his lover's enclosed hand a squeeze. Inside, the tiny seed sprouted. "You-Uhh-should check….check the precinct…" Sam stuttered, blackness calling him. Invisible claws threatened to drag him under blissful slumber. Eyelids fluttered, hot breath tickling his ear faintly.

"Go to sleep, Sammy…."

And with that command, Sam's eyes slid shut.

* * *

Silence-uncomfortable, awkward silence-filled every crack and curve of the interior of the Impala. It wrapped around Dean, mimicking his worries with quiet whispers. _You gave your life for him….and now….you might not be able to save him._ The hiss died into laughter, sweat making the steering wheel slick under Dean's fingers. Growling, the Winchester turned the radio on, flicking his wrist. Metallica blasted through the accusing tones, shattering them. Death did not make his spine stiffen or muscles tense. He had seen it too many times to be afraid of it. How it constricts around your heart, tearing the rhythmic beats from your body inch by inch. It was almost theatrical, a dying scream frozen upon blue tinted lips. No, that wasn't what stole his breath away. 

"God Sammy," Dean choked, finding the cracks in his armor widen. Hell was where he was going to go, but not his lover, never his lover. The Impala slowed to a halt as a green circle turned to red. Closing his eyes, the Winchester picked up the broken pieces of his motivation, the puzzle coming back into place. His brother would be on this plane, Dean's will and determination cementing his shoes to the dry earth. Opening his eyes once more, he watched the light go to green once more, his foot pressing on the gas pedal. "I'll save you Sam." Emotions eased, the precinct coming into view. Straightening his back, Dean let out a breath. The wheels crunched gravel as they curved, molding around rocks and chunks of pavement.

Digging through the Winchester fake I.D. holder, Dean choose the one he needed, clipping it to his jacket pocket before exiting the car and heading to the station. The sun was just peeking above the horizon, the earlier hours spent on the chair within the hotel room watching Sam sleep.

* * *

The squeak of worn wheels on bland tiles echoed in the Records Bureau, making Dean inwardly cringe. His eyes scanned the wall of file bins that held his prize while scoping for others. Putrid aromas floated to his nose, his face scrunching as he glanced at his partner for the moment. The rectangular yellow bucket on four wheels held dirty water at best, the collection a murky green. Too much cleaner was added, water filling Dean's eyes. Shaking his head, the Winchester straightened in his blue jumpsuit. His fingers tightened around the oak handle of the stained mop as plastic bottom shoes clicked from behind him. Sweeping his gaze over the two rows of gray metal boxes in the middle of the room, Dean offered a smile to the patrolman. 

His dark blue uniform had dashes of gold in the shape of a name tag and buttons, a badge clearly placed in view. Unlike most cops Dean has seen, the man was fit, and looked to be in his early thirties. Not cocky, but confident in his abilities.

"How is it going officer?" Dean interjected, flashing his teeth. The man with the name tag that read 'Scripter' returned the expression, nodding his head.

"Good thank you. Are you new? I haven't seen you around." The southern drawl was prominent in his speech. Scripter raised his brow in curiosity, inspecting Dean up and down.

Never faltering in his calm facade, the Winchester dipped his head. "Freddy boy hired me just last week. I got to say, out of all the precincts I've mopped, this is go to be the cleanest." _Especially the water you use to clean this place with!_ Dean silently added in his head. The officer looked around, smiling.

"Yep, we take pride in our precinct." Settling his gaze back on Dean, Scripter bowed his head. "Well, I guess I'll be seeing you around. Have a good morning."

Dean waited till the man shut the door behind him before chuckling to himself. "Damn I'm amazing!" His grin grew as he sauntered over to the first row of files. Clicking his tongue, he slowly went down to business, his eyes every so often darting to the wooden door. "All-righty, let's see what the five-o's found for me..." Finding the correct metal box, Dean slid it open, nimbly flicking through the top label before snatching a manila folder out of the bunch. Brows furrowing as his eyes scanned over the sloppy hand writing. It basically repeated everything the two already knew. The guy had changed behavior dramatically and then popped his wife and children. Finding nothing, Dean found the file of the next victim. His body stiffened as his eyes halted their sway. "Finally!" Snapping the folder closed, he pocketed the item before cleaning up his mess and departing. A huge grin split his face, an expression of triumph brightening his features.

* * *

The soft hum of the Impala filled the hotel parking lot two hours later, followed by a slam of metal upon metal. Scanning the square plot of pavement, Dean casually slipped into his hotel room. For some reason, the hairs of his neck stood on end, a feeling of being watched lingering as he shut the door behind him. Frowning, he peeled the curtain of the small window in front of the room back, eyes darting left and then right cautiously. 

"What' you looking for?" Came Sam's groggily voice from behind.

Turning, Dean relaxed his features, finding the sight of his lover enough to calm the jittery nerves. Sam was still weak, his arms shaking from the effort to support his torso. The white sheet fell softly to his waist, hair flattened in some places while sticking up in others. If it weren't for the illness factor, Dean would be picking on his little brother right that instant for bed hair. Letting go of the curtain, the Winchester offered a small smile, sitting beside the other hunter.

"Nothing…How are you feeling?"

Blinking, Sam's brows furrowed, eyes drifting to the window. He didn't believe Dean, knowing his brother was not one to become paranoid. He had awoken to the squeal of the hotel door, noticing at once that Dean was on edge. Even with his mind hampered by exhaustion, he caught the slow and quiet movements of the oldest Winchester alive. Swallowing, his arms suddenly gave, his world dropping for a quick second before a hand clasped around his bicep in a constrictors grip. The jarring action made his headache flare, his eyes squeezing shut.

"I got'cha." Dean whispered, his voice somewhat strained. Sammy was becoming dead weight in his hold. Lowering the youth onto the bed, he removed his hand scooting up further so he could wrap his arm around Sam's shoulder. His fingers rubbed the tense muscles of his neck. Tilting his head, Dean eyed his lover. "The Advil not working?" He asked, enlacing his appendages with Sam's left hand. Lips curved as the larger fingers curled inward.

"A little." The brown haired hunter replied slightly muffled. Turning his head, Sam gazed at Dean. "Did you find anything?"

Dean caught the hint, distracting his lover from the pain. _At least_, he thought, _it wasn't as bad_. The fact that Sam was talking to him confidently proved that fact. "Well, apparently Halley Joel and Mr. Deceased were related."

Sam raised a brow. "Related?"

"Reeelated!"

"Dobble Ganger?" Sam retorted, his headache lessening as he became more intrigued with the case. Looking up, he saw his brother nod.

"Make sense, since Dobble Gangers go through the family and have the ability to screw with your head." Moving his hand from Sam's neck, Dean brushed it up and down the younger youth's forearm. "Apparently, the Misses said she had seen her dead niece walking around, though the cops dismissed it as post traumatic stress disorder."

"She is taking the form of the girl and knocking off the rest of the family. Dobble Gangers are known as evil twins, which would be why it's in the form of the first victim, the niece." Eyeing Dean worriedly, Sam swallowed the lump in his throat. "We got to exorcise it before e it kills someone else Dean."

Sighing, Dean bobbed his head. "I know, but I think I'll have to do this solo."

Once the words left Dean's mouth, Sam stiffened. "What? Solo?" He asked in a dumbfounded tone, almost mocking Dean for even thinking such a thing. "No way bro, no way in hell!"

Dean rolled his eyes, standing up and putting his arms out. "It's not really an option Sam. Not when you can't even sit up on your own." When Sam looked away, Dean sighed. He knew what his brother was thinking-Dean was calling him a liability. It was true in one view but not in the Winchester's. Sam would most likely get hurt or even killed which was something Dean would never let happen-hence why he sold his soul for the youth. Little Sammy of course, saw it literally. A trait that often chained the brown haired hunter to a bottom less pit of guilt and self hatred. Crouching down in front of Sam, Dean looked at him skeptically. "You know I love you. You're just down for the count, all right? You'll be good for the next hunt. I got this one." Inches away, Dean dived in, kissing his lover passionately to physically prove his affection. When he pulled back, he carried a reassuring curve of his lips.

Sam blushed, slightly taken back and embarrassed. Pushing through the growing need developing from the peck, Sam kept arguing. "It's not about how many hunts I'll go on! I don't want to risk you going all heroic and getting yourself split in half or something by the spirit because no one was watching your back." Flinching, Sam rubbed his brow tiredly, his temper getting the best of him. "Sorry…just…please at least wait until tomorrow?" Cracking an eye open, the Winchester felt his muscles loosen as Dean crumbled before him. He won.

"Okay, until tomorrow-but only then." Grumbling, the Winchester rolled his eyes at the smug look on Sam's face. Straightening, Dean checked the clock. It was close to noon and his energy seemed drained, the all-nighter taking a toll on his body. Groaning as he stretched, the Winchester climbed over Sam, settling beside him. Sam was already practically out, mumbling incoherently as Dean slung an arm around his waist and tugged him against him. Before the older hunter knew it, he was asleep, snoring softly. For an hour, the soft hum from each Winchester was uninterrupted, the room darkened and separate from the rest of the world. Nothing moved, the black laptop barely visible upon the table next to a Styrofoam sealed left over. It was as if the room held its breath, the golden door knob suddenly jiggling. Turning, the door opened, golden light spilling through the growing crack until a fan of yellow reached across the carpet. Two figures, one more built than the other, surveyed the room.

"Disgusting…" A female voice noted, the first body stepping through the entrance way. Her features were hardly seen in the black fog clouding the room. Turning towards the single bed, the woman chuckled, a grin forming.

"Look what we have here….lovers and brothers…." Remarked the other, voice deep and thick with scrutiny. The rather large man came beside Sam, a hand searching his coat pocket. White plastic zip ties appeared.

"Let's get this over with, before someone shows up." Motioning to the two cuddling Winchesters, the smaller of the two came forward, climbing onto the bed.

In unison, the partners pressed white rags to each of the brother's mouths while bonding their hands and feet together with zip ties. The boys had little resistance, the chemicals doing their job as their lids slipped shut and limbs became lax.

Crawling backwards off the bed, the woman dusted off her hands, as if the Winchesters were covered in some kind of foul liquid. "All right, I'll pull the truck up and you load them in." With one last look at the kidnapped, she disappeared out the door, leaving her partner to deal with the damaged goods.


	7. False Accusations

Chapter 7

_False Accusations _

The dank smell hit Dean's nose as he came back amongst the living, his body already alerting him of it's aches and pains. Icy hands clasped onto his side, water weighing down the jean and maroon t-shirt. The Winchester had not even bothered to get changed before having hopped in bed beside Sam. Shivering, he cracked open his lids, scrunching his nose as the horrible aroma intensified with his growing awareness of his surroundings. Sharp edged plastic bit into his wrists, arms pulled behind his back. The restraints brought back memories of metal cuffs and badges. Shaking his head to clear the fog coating his brain, Dean eyed his new prison. His gaze immediately caught the sight of his brother, who was in the same position against the opposite wall. His chest rose and fell, allowing Dean to relax a little bit. The bent ripped knee of his jeans were darkened along the side with water no doubt. Brown locks were curtaining his eyes. Feeling Sam was in no immediate need of aid, Dean continued surveying.

The room appeared to be a old factory of some sort. The floor was a plain of concrete, stains and dirt tarnishing it's surface. Puddles of murky water collected in spots where the high ceiling supported by metal plated walls was weak. The constant drip echoed in the rather large room as if the Winchester was in a cave. Rust leaked between the dingy ruffled plates like tears, collecting in a clump where the wall met the floor. As Dean looked up he caught the maze of metal bars complete with a rotary system that he could only guess were used for moving hooks of meat. Holes in the structure were the only source of light, allowing the fungi that surely filled each crack of the broken factory to grow and manifest.

Curling into a sitting position, Dean took a minute to catch his breath while he looked for exits. The only possible escape was through a overly rusted door on the metal partition to the right of him. "Damnit…" Dean cursed, sighing. Having accessed the situation, the hunter centered on awaking Sam. It had been the first rule his father had taught him-check out your surroundings before aiding or helping your partner or yourself. It kept things such as Windegos from surprising him. "Sam!" He hissed, keeping his voice down. He didn't know who the hell kidnapped them which made him extra cautious. The bastards could be watching his every move for all he knew. When the youth continued to slumber in chemical induced la la land, Dean growled. "Sammy!" He snapped. That got the little brother's attention. His head turned this way and that before Sam let out a small moan. "And the living gaint awakes!"

"Dean?"

"Right across from you Sammy." Dean retorted warmly, watching as Sam flexed in his restraints. Muscles strained under flesh, swelling beneath the arm of his shirt. "We're not going anywhere any time soon Sam, so just sit tight."

The youth's efforts came to a halt, his eyes closing with enough force to send wrinkles on the side of his temples.

"Hey, you hurt?" Dean quickly inquired, his voice betraying his nerves. His hands flexed, the Winchester hating the wire ties with a passion at that moment. Bowing his head, he tried to see more of Sam's face.

Cringing, the brown haired hunter held back a groan. "I'm…fine. My head just hurts a little." His body alone was somewhat damaged. It felt like he had been manhandled on his way getting to here-where here was. "Where are we?" Pushing against the pain, Sam rolled onto his back, using his abs to lift his torso upwards. With a grunt he was finally sitting up.

Smirking faintly, Dean scooted back against the wall, trying to lighten the situation. He met Sam's gaze. "The cows brought us to a meat factory I believe dear Watson."

"Did you get to see their faces?" Sam sniffed, scrunching his nose in disgust.

"Yeah, if you haven't noticed, they didn't have time to febreeze the place before they put us in there." Rubbing his shoulders lightly against the metal behind him, Dean eyed the ceiling. "Man this has a high fucking ceiling…."

"Neither did I…" Sam sighed, realizing they were as blind as bat without its sonar.

"Nah, they clorafoamed me before I could even blink." Dean cocked his head, face becoming thoughtful. "We'll get out of here Sammy, just like we always do."

Chuckling to himself, the youngest Winchester smiled, finding the small comfort warming his chilling body. "Yeah…I know."

* * *

The sound of squealing metal brought Sam and Dean to attention, the Winchesters watching the only entrance and exit to the building expectantly. As the door opened, light spilled into the room, two figures emerging. Dean would call the first rather pretty, if she wasn't the one who put his brother and him in here in the first place. With long brown curls and full cleavage, any man could draw to the same conclusion. The one behind her was one that made Dean glance at Sam worried however.

Bulging muscles beneath dark flesh completed the man's form, the clothes showing them brilliantly. It was going to be hard to bring the sucker down.

"Well, how are you two doing? Good I hope?" The gorgeous female cooed, a smirk splitting her face. Her heels clicked on the floor as she stepped in the middle of the two Winchesters.

Dean rolled his eyes, leaning gingerly against the wall. "I've received better hospitality." He retorted.

"Well….I could have you gagged and bound now could I?" She teased, chuckling.

Tilting his head, Sam's brows furrowed. "What do you want?"

"They always seem to ask that first, don't they Enya." The African American spoke up, smiling at Sam as if he had just played a trick on the boy without him knowing. Turning his partner, the male shared in her own amusement.

"Enya…what a pretty name for such a righteous bitch."

The room went quiet for a moment, a harsh smack breaking through the silence. Butch growled low, stepping away from Dean, blood now streaming from the hunter's lip. Enya watched emotionlessly, her eyes icy cold.

"Not bad." The blonde haired hostage continued to mock, his hand tapping against the new cut carefully. He smirked at the crimson liquid on the back of skin. Out of the corner of his eye, he caught Sam struggling in his bonds. "You going to kill me now…Enya or is your black friend going to do it for you?" His gaze drifted to Butch, the man veins popping out on his arms. He loved giving the two a piece of frustration now and then.

Abruptly, Enya's demeanor did a three-eighty, her lips once more curving upwards. The change grabbed Dean's eye, his smile diminishing. He didn't care for her almost calm appearance.

"Not yet. First, I want to play a little game with your friend over there." Her head motioned to Sam, the hunter pressing backwards. "Butch-" She called, her face never turning away from Dean. "-Could you get me the hook?' Finally tearing her gaze from the older sibling, the woman glanced at Butch.

Her partner walked over to the far wall, his fingers flipping open a protective cover of a control panel near the door before the hook at the far end of the room clicked to life. The rusty piece of equipment slid along the guided railways until it was beside Enya's head. It was slightly smaller than the average meat hook, but still loomed threateningly above the ground.

"Now, we are going to have some fun."

A blackening shadow in her eyes sent Dean's hair on his neck straight, his hands wiggling in the plastic cuffs. Apprehension sent a chill through his spine. Wordlessly he swallowed as Butch came over to Sam, his brother backing up till his back was stopped by steel, a weary look in his beautiful eyes. "What are you doing?!" Dean hissed as Sam was snatched up by the bonds on his wrists. The quick adjustment in vertigo took a toll on the Winchester, his body swaying as his eyes squeezed shut. "Hey!" Dean shouted, clenching his teeth. A burning glare was sent towards Enya, his anger rising as Sam was handed over to the female. He by now had found his sea legs, the limbs no longer buckling beneath the lengthy youth.

"Not much of a talker now are we Dean?" Enya taunted, her free hand opening, palm facing upwards. Butch reached into his belt and pulled out a plastic piece, placing it in her hand.

The moment Dean saw the gun, he begun to panic. He was weaponless and bound by unbreakable twist ties. With Butch in the room he wouldn't stand a chance of moving or performing any rescue attempts. The fact constantly bit him in the butt, his years of practice useless in this situation.

"I thought you said you weren't going to kill us?" Sam muttered, his tongue tracing his lips. His throat felt as dry as a dessert stream during drought. The woman's painful grip on his arm keep him still, his hair falling in his face as he glanced at the pistol. The Beretta 9mm pistol was accompanied with a silencer on its muzzle.

"Oh, I see you've noticed the nose on this baby…" Enya remarked, catching Sam's gaze. Her fingers curled around the grip, loving how it molded perfectly against her hand. "Nice gun. Oh and don't worry…no one will hear the shots and come running."

Dean and Sam exchanged a look, each feeling a little dizzier.

"So..What are you going to do?" Sam inquired further, swallowing.

Enya smirked, stepping in front of the hostage. Leaning back, Sam tried to not feel her breath on his face. "This-" A pang went off followed by a yelp and moan. Blood splattered onto the floor between them, Sam's knees giving out as he fell to the ground.

"WHAT THE HELL DID YOU DO?!" Dean screamed, stumbling forward before Butch grabbed the back of his shirt and yanked him back. The Winchester didn't even acknowledge it, continuing to fight against the hold. Cement clawed at his jean covered knees.

"Mmmpph" Sam mumbled, head hanging.

"See, now wasn't that just the best thing you've ever seen?!" Enya said with a light tone, stepping out of Dean's line of sight.

Red fluid dotted Sam's shirt and pants, streaming from his shaking bound hands. The scene made the fight practically leave Dean, his fidgeting ceasing as he found tears burning the back of his lids. "Sam…" He whispered brokenly, needing to see some sort of sign from his brother.

Clicking her tongue, Enya shook her head, slowly waltzing over to Sam. "I don't think Sammy is wanting to speak at the moment." Crouching down to his side, the female cocked her head.

"What do you want?" Sam gritted out, his head still dangling.

Dean gave the kid credit, feeling somewhat better. If Sam was able to talk, then he was all right. Looking over his shoulder at Butch, the hunter growled. "Get your fucken' hands off me you bastard!" Hearing a scream, Dean whipped his head around. The bitch had Sam's hands in hers, nails digging into the two bullet holes. More blood welled to the surface, spilling over his wrists. Her eyes meet Dean's, silently ordering him to shut up.

"Don't fuck with me Winchester, or your brother will have a permanent hole in his brain." Enya snapped, keeping a hold on Sam's wrist as she straightened. The wounded youth scrambled to follow suit, his hair falling from his sweat soaked face. His whole body shook from the immense pain in his hands. The bullet had gone clean through each palm, leaving circles of missing flesh.

Sensing Sam's distress, Dean cooled himself down, allowing Butch to let go of his shirt and take a step back.

"Now that we have your brother's corporation, let's continue." Enya nodded to Butch, the man taking her place. "You move one inch Dean and I blow your brother's brains out and then yours-got it?" Clicking the safety off her Berretta, she aimed it at Sam's head as he was forced to stand. Dean closed his mouth, eyes following Sam's face.

It was pure torture just sit there as his brother was hoisted in the air by Butch, his feet leaving the floor. Glancing at the hook, Dean suddenly figured out what it was for, his throat closing up as the scenario was played out. "Please..." He choked, Sam's hands now above the hook's curved edge. With a gasp from the younger Winchester the tip was shoved through his appendages, tearing at the pre-made bullet holes.

Air was pulled from Sam's lungs as his flesh was lit on fire, eyes squeezing shut as he tried to breathe through his gaping mouth. A tear leaked from his right eye, streaming down his cheek and molding with perspiration. Every muscle locked, blood dripping onto his hair and face from above him. For a moment, he could hear nothing but his ragged breathe, the pain overwhelming all of his senses to the point where he thought he should be dead already. As he worked through some of the discomfort, he felt Butch move away, his brother's shouts of outrage a dull hum in the background. _Breathe or you're going to pass out!_ He told himself, willing his ribs to expand. God if only he could pass out. It would be a vacation compared to this. The only problem was that Dean would be out of sight. He wouldn't know if these bastards were killing him or beating him. Forcing his eyes open, he gazed at Dean. His brother was still in the process of throwing a fit, Butch once more fisting the Winchester's shirt as he promised to shoot Enya. The female seemed unaffected, her lips poised in a smile.

"Oh look, you're he opened his eyes for us!" Butch informed, snagging Dean's attention back to his sibling. "I think he is ready to move on to the next round Enya."

"Leave him the hell alone! What the hell do you want anyway?! He hasn't done anything to you!" Dean continued to yell, unable to keep himself from doing so. His lover's shirt was already stained with the blood from his hands. His muscular form was taunt, sweat making a fine line between his pecks. Forcing his eyes away, Dean looked at Enya in disbelief.

"That is not what I remember Dean."

Brows furrowing quizzically, Dean tried to place her face in his vault of memories. "That's bullshit." He retorted heatedly, gaze darting to Sam for a second. "He hasn't hurt anyone who hasn't deserved to be dead." The boy couldn't hurt a human anyway.

Shaking her head, Enya sighed. "I think you don't know him as well as I do then." Coming to Sam's side, she dragged her fingers lightly over his clothed ribs. Her eyes scanned his body hungrily, head lifting. "Does he Sammy?" She cooed in the brown haired hunter's ear.

"Fuck off!" Sam growled, rolling his head to the side. His lids pressed closed as she applied some downwards pressure on his body.

"Come on Sam, you don't remember?"

Butch appeared behind Sammy, his hands clenched. "You better fucken' remember boy." He snarled, cracking his fingers.

Getting onto his knees, Dean rolled his eyes. "He didn't do anything shit head-that's why he doesn't remember!"


	8. Middle Age Sentencing

Chapter 8

_Middle Age Sentencing_

One minute Dean was yelling at his captors, the next minute flying by as a knee was shoved under his chin. Teeth clamped so hard that the Winchester ended up biting his tongue. The motion sent his body falling backwards, knees still bent at an awkward angle. On the way down he hit his head on the concrete loudly, the female chuckling at the sound.

"I think he's out for the count, wouldn't you say so Sammy?" She hissed by his ear, loving how he twitched. Sticking her tongue out, she lapped at a drop of crimson on Sam's neck. "Yum, you taste good." Smirking, she circled back into his view, Butch taking her place behind the Winchester. Sam stared back defiantly, confusion hidden in their hazel depths. "You still don't get it do you?" She whispered as if he was a two year old learning why he had to eat.

"I can't tell from all the shit that is spilling out of your mouth." Sam countered, finding a cocky grin capturing his lips. Dean had definitely worn off on him over the years. Too bad, just like Dean, his mouth got him into trouble.

"For someone who is hanging by his hands, you are pretty coherent…" Enya snapped. Butch took his cue, slamming his fist into the lower half of Sam's spine. The youth kept silent, only wincing, his body swinging lightly. "How about we fix that?" Bowing her head she gazed at the Winchester before performing a spinning kick to his side.

Sam's eyes widened, breath whistling through clenched teeth as Enya's boot made contact with the side of his ribs three more times. The bitch was a pretty powerful kicker, skin scraped away and leaving an angry red patch that was already turning blue beneath the white shirt. He swore his ribs were about to crack. Hearing the slice of material against metal Sam opened his eyes, immediately centering on the blade that was cutting down the front of his shirt. The serrated edge spread the white collar like butter, its cool tip tickling his skin before splitting the flesh along his abs.

"Oh look Butch…he bleeds red. Guess he's not a demon." Enya stated, lifting the knife away to stare at the crimson stained teeth. Raising a brow, the woman met Sam's questioning gaze.

"I'm not a demon-plus-demons bleed red anyway…" The Winchester shook his head slightly at the captor's lack of knowledge. Did they still believe he was 'the army leader' the Yellow Eyes labeled him? Perhaps that's why they kidnapped him? God this whole set up was so messed up.

"You would know wouldn't you-having open the Gates of Hell and letting every God forsaken damn bastard and bitch we worked hard to get down there out!" Enya's voice filled the room, scaring Sam slightly.

"It was out of my control. You think I would want to let them out?!" The Winchester had thought this fight was over, the Yellow Eyed Demon dead, a bigger war now taking its presence. He should have known the African American couple was not the only ones who would think he still had an evil bone in him. Hell, he was beginning to think every wrong was his fault.

A smile once more broke through the angry mask, Enya's lips curved upward. "Now you're going to pay for all the lives taken by your mistake…every-single-one." Backing away, the female captor crossed her arms, eyes alight with lust.

"What are you going to do?" Sam asked quietly, fear underlying his tone. The answer came in the form of a whip slicing through the back of his shirt. Caught by surprise, Sam yelped, squeezing his eyes shut at the burning pain left behind. The weapon crackled out of sight, taunting him and whispering assurances of more blood spilled.

"That was for my sister…." Enjya hissed, lifting her head in defiance as the black cord came down on Sam's skin. She wanted to see his face when he screamed.

Snaps of leather on flesh echoed off the walls, the momentum never easing. Welts formed till they covered Sam's back like a painting. Still, Butch did not stop, flicking his wrist. The two captors silently screamed for crimson, their hidden monsters coming to life from the sight of the youth's muscles trembling, white shirt tattered and ripped. Blood soon came, sweat streaming pass the corner of Sam's eyes as he clenched his jaw so tight it hurt. Another welt was torn as the whip fell for the fifteenth time. The sensation of fire eating his back left the Winchester gasping, tears prickling his eyes. Bowing his head, he tried to catch his breath. Each tremor or spasm of muscle tugged painfully at his hands, the remaining skin threatening to tear. As the lashing continued, Sam found his voice no longer silent, yelps escaping his lips. It was weird, hearing himself, the crimson fluid coating his back and soaking the waist of his flannels. Nothing reached his ears other than his own pitiful pleases and smack of the whip. The torture seemed endless, when finally, light shown at the end of the tunnel.

"How does it feel?" A harsh slap on the cheek got Sam's attention. He opened his eyes, not having remembered closing them. The blurry image of Enya's menacing face took up his sight. "Not as bad as all those who died because of you…" Deep burrowed loss had Sam holding her gaze.

"Nothing would ever be enough to match them." Butch grumbled from behind. Sam winced, having forgotten about the man who caused his pain.

"We don't want him to die on us….let him down." She spat, walking over to the door. Pausing, she looked over her shoulder at her captive, a mask of stone slipping into place. "We'll have some more playtime later…."

The creaking of rust announced her exit, the female leaving her handy man to yank the hook down and slip it back out the holed flesh.

Black cloaked his eyes as Sam body hit the floor, his head cracking against pavement. It seemed to be normal now, how little his limbs were cared for. Only a day with the captors and the Winchester felt like he was not going to be able to make it through the next few hours. Pathetic, he knew, the overwhelming wave of fear threatening to crash home. As the dots of darkness left his vision, Sam found himself staring at his brother's slumped form. His heart clenched in his chest, tears springing to his eyes. His mind longed for comfort, his body aching for something kind and soft. A man in his mid twenties would never have needed such childish coos. It was something that made Sam bite back his call, the word "Dean" begging to be spoken. His childhood hero was now the one he silently cried for. Letting out a shaky breath, the youth let a tear fall, his brown locks now soaked with sweat and water from the puddle that lay under him like a pillow. He pressed his nose into the concrete floor, trying to ground himself while he continued to float away into a world not of his own. Eventually the pounding headache dulled until its presence was no longer known, the void between two phases pulling him under and giving Sam a blessed release from pain's strong grip.

* * *

Images of his brother hanging on a hook brought Dean back from his state of unconsciousness. Urgency fought the stiff jaw and limbs as Dean forced himself into a sitting position. Night had come, painting the world in shadow. Distant drips played along with hushed breathing. "Sammy?" Dean whispered, his voice gravelly from misuse. Blinking, he adjusted himself to his new surroundings. The metal walls reminded him of his predicament, though he needed no such reminder. The lack of warmth by his side was enough to awake his senses. "Sam?" Still no answer. Leaning forward, Dean's brows rose at the black shape a few feet from him, mouth parting in shock. "Sammy!" Using his knees, he scuttled as quickly as he could, the thin denim material breaking with each drag. Practically falling, Dean stopped beside his brother.

Blood soaked the clothing on the kid's back, the shirt practically ripped off. It was heart wrenching to see the whip marks. Feeling the plastic behind his back, Dean growled, sick of his predicament already. Hunching downward, he forced his bound hands under his butt, wincing as gravel ate at his knuckles. It was worth the discomfort, his legs quickly bending to allow his bonded hands to loop over them. Once they were in front of him, he got back onto his knees. "Baby?" He whispered, leaning down and stroking his crimson knuckles along Sam's cheek. The lack of response made Dean's heart race, his hands shaky as they checked for further injuries. There seemed to be some swollen flesh on Sam's side, his back not even touchable. "God…why are they doing this to you?" No one answered, the room laughing silently, shadows watching in the darkness.

"D…e…"

The pain filled moan brought Dean back from his thoughts, head bowing to meet Sam's gaze. The fluttering lids and glassy orbs were the best thing Dean could have asked for at the moment.

"Sammy, I'm right here." Dean cooed, smiling as he placed a kiss on the younger Winchester's lips. "How are you doing?"

Sam squeezed his eyes shut at the question, holding in a breath and almost forgetting to let it out. He felt that if he moved, his back would shatter, healing skin ripping apart.

Reading the Winchester, Dean put on a brave face. "We'll get out of here….I promise." He reassured, already have said the phrase earlier. He had to keep Sam believing it. Glancing at the door, he brought his gaze back on his brother. "Think you can sit up?" He inquired softly.

"If you help, then yeah, I think I can get up." Sam replied, wiggling his hands to get some feeling into them. The skin was being pricked with invisible needles.

Moving closer to his lover, Dean gripped Sam's bicep, digging his knees in. "Alright. One-two-three…" With a grunt he heaved his little brother into a kneeling position. It wasn't easy, Sam hardly able to provide some help with his hands tied behind his back.

"You doing okay?" Dean questioned once Sam had regained control over his breathing. The youth's eyes were shut tight, jaw muscles flexing on either side of his face. His hands refused to let go of the younger man's arm.

Sam could feel the brush of Dean's breathe on his cheek, taking some relief from Dean's immediacy. "You okay?" He pressed out instead.

Dean rolled his eyes, the oldest Winchester huffing. "Of course I'm fine. I wasn't the one whipped." He shook his head, motioning over to the wall. "You want to camp out over there? That way you could lean against the metal." Pausing, he looked down briefly. A bug the size of a pin prick was wading its way through the grime. "It's a hell of a lot better than the floor-though I'm sure the bugger wouldn't mind a friend."

Sam snorted, getting on his feet with his brother by his side. Within minutes the two dropped themselves down along the steel board. The cuts on Sam's back forced him to rest sideways, shoulder touching the wall. His head made a light 'thump' as he collapsed, eyes watching Dean's face.

"You going to keep staring like some big eyed girl?" Dean teased, smirking. "Cause I always thought you wore the dress in this relationship." The comment received a soft chuckle, allowing Dean to think a little brighter. Obviously Sam wasn't done fighting yet.

"You keep bringing that up so maybe you're the one with the lacy underwear?"

Raising a brow, Dean broke out in a grin. The expression quickly died as he thought about Sam's misfortunes. "Did you learn anything about our dear old buddies?" The humor was dry, anger lying underneath.

Sighing, Sam bit his bottom lip. "No, other than them wanting me to pay for opening the gates of Hell….I think the girl thinks I killed her sister too…."

"You killed her sister-yeah-really." Dean hit his head on the wall, cursing everyone's stupidity.

"Maybe it was done when I was possessed?" Sam added quietly. "If that's true Dean…Then I deserve this." Looking away, his shoulders unconsciously slumped.

Before the youth had finished his sentence, Dean went rigid, having heard this already. _Great, the bitch is breaking him down when I just built him back up! _Holding his temper in check, Dean spoke in an even tone. "You don't **deserve** any of this-alright? You have a good heart and will. **No** one deserves to be whipped. We aren't in Middle Ages." Nudging Sam with his shoulder, the oldest Winchester got his attention, holding his gaze with his own. "Understand?" When Sam's eyes dropped, Dean growled, bumping his forehead with his lover's own. "Sam-you're the most pure person I know and I love you for it. Do you think I would have sex with an evil-bastard?" Staring straight at Sam, Dean allowed emotion to seep into his gaze. He could feel his lover trying to find faults in these simple truths, Sam's brow wrinkling faintly. Dean waited patiently.

"No, you wouldn't…." Sam finally blurted, a lazy smile catching his lips.

Winking, Dean leaned forward, swallowing Sam's mouth with his own..

* * *

I just want to thank the reviewers for continuing reviewing! Please, if you haven't, click the button and tell me what you think!


	9. Game Time

Chapter 9

_Game Time_

Light filtered through the dust particles lingering in the air as Enya and her partner entered the steel walled prison of the Winchesters. As the door swung open, she found herself smirking, the scene before her playing perfectly into her little game. The younger boy laid sideways, lashes brushing the tops of his cheekbones as he rested his head against Dean's shoulder. The back view was just as appetizing, dried blood caked like a layer of frosting on the youth's skin. The hard crimson cracked as Sam inhaled, ribs expanding. Butch whispered softly into her ear, not willing to wake the captives just yet.

"You think they figured it out yet?"

Rolling her eyes, Enya gave a skeptical look at her African American friend. "Oh, we are way too good of actors for them to figure us out yet." Quietly chuckling, she turned her gaze back on the slumbering Winchesters. "Give us some credit-we an't horrible."

Her heels clicked, the noise loud compared to the silence as she marched over to the still brothers. Dean was quite cute up close, his lips slightly parted as his own head was supported by Sam's. His bound hands sat in his lap, the skin raw around the plastic. Sweat and blood surrounded the two thickly, blanketing Enya in a sickening scent. To her, it was like smelling roses on a sunny afternoon.

"They'll piss in their pants when they find out..." Butch sneered, crouching in front of the boys. His eyes ranked over their tousled bodies.

"It's almost a shame to wake them up." Flashing teeth, Enya moved behind Sam's back, pulling her foot back before letting it smack the Winchester. The force sent the youth forward, tumbling to the floor. Dean was startled awake as his brother smashed into him, taking him down with him to the ground.

Closing his eyes, Sam tried to breathe through reignited fire flaring up his back from the single scrape of plastic against flesh. He could feel warm liquid oozing from new and old wounds. Whipping his head around, he glared at Enya, her eyes alight with mischief.

"You ready for another round Sammy boy? Or do you fess up to what you did?"

Before Sam could utter a word, Dean jumped in, getting back on his butt rather quickly and sending his own menacing glower at the captors.

"You are going to hurt him no matter what he says. So I think will continue with our present view. You are both fucken' crazy." Tearing his gaze from Enya a moment, Dean checked Sam, his shoulder digging into the panting youth's chest as Sam leaned against him. "You with me buddy?" He called softly, a shift of brown in the corner of his eyes causing him to rotate his body towards the man.

"We'll, chat time is over. I guess we need to do some more convincing." Enya's voice held a therapist's tone, her words light.

Of course, they did not fool the Winchesters, the bitch summoning Butch to her side before talking softly in his ear. Dean watched them converse warily, his brother slowly coming to.

"Fuck." Sam hissed, blinking his lids open and glancing at the two a few feet away. "What do you think...their saying?" He hated how his breathe was stolen from him with a few simple words. As Enya turned towards him once more, he tucked his hands between his thighs, his aching flesh hidden from view. Blood still ran from the open holes.

"Oh look at that, Sammy's putting his hand between his legs. I don't think he likes what we did to his hands very much Butch. And I thought the gun was such a nice touch to the whole game." Enya mocked sorrowfully, crouching in front of the Winchesters.

They eyed her warily, daggers sent her way.

"Let's continue, shall we?" Standing, she snapped her fingers. Footsteps echoed off the walls as Butch went into action, hoisting Sam up easily and hooking him to the ceiling. The meat hook was still dripping red, the captors giving the youth a break for once and letting the metal rest on the plastic tie keeping Sam's hands together.

Dean almost sighed in relief, knowing that his brother's limbs could not take much more before they ripped. Tearing his gaze away from him, Dean watched Enya prance around the hook. It was disgusting to see the lust in her eyes.

The brush of air hitting his sides had Sam stiffening, muscles aching in protest. Goosebumps broke out like a rash across his exposed skin. He couldn't help but bit his lip to hold back a yelp when he felt her foot connect against his side again, hearing his ribs break. White hot pain exploded in his sides, mouth parting as he gasped for air. Dean's voice rang like a dull buzz in his ear, but his eyes refused to open. As he tried he found the world swimming in a blurry haze, the lack of oxygen taking its affect. Trying to calm his ragged breathing, he found his sight returning, not really sure if he should take it as a blessing or not. As he felt a hand caress the skin behind the waist of his pants he wished he had just passed out. Heat rushed to his cheek bones, turning him scarlet. It was worse because he could feel Dean's eyes burning holes into him. His lover was watching him being played like an instrument.

"Come on Sammy, open those big brown eyes for me..." Enya coed, her lips close to his ear. Sam flinched instinctively, hating how she used Dean's calming words and contorted them into a spiteful call. When he kept his eyes shut the woman plunged her hand down his pants.

He froze immediately, willing his body to still under soft hands that groped his groin. He felt as if the traveling fingers left permanent black marks, contaminating his flesh.

"You fucken bastards!" Dean screamed as he watched his lover be defiled in front of him as if he was a piece of meat. Tears burned, though he refused to shed them. He didn't even see Butch's foot flying towards his sternum, his lungs deflating as he fell forward. His eyes stayed on his lover as he noticed a fresh coat of sweat cover Sam. Limbs trembled from the strain of being still, his long body in pain. Beneath the pants Dean could see his brother growing, Enya's grin splitting her face. God how much he wanted to punch so hard her face bones shattered. He had done it before on a drunken man who almost killed his lover while he hustled. He wouldn't even give Enya a second thought before doing it again.

"Are you going to cum Sammy? You know you love my touching you..."

Sam threw his head back as he felt heat pull below his waist, a tear streaming down his right cheek, mixing in with the sticky blood still coating it. Just as he was about to release, he whispered, "I'm sorry Dean..."

The apology was heard loud and clear despite the drone in Dean's ears. He gave Sam the only thing he could give in the situation, some privacy. Turning away he stared harshly at the cement ground, squeezing his eyes shut as he heard his brother grunt and whimper. He only got to see Sam like that, no one else. It wasn't right, angering him further. Clenching his jaw he promised God that he was going to brutally murder the two before he left the town. Butch chuckled beside him, his eyes lighting up.

"See...you are just a dirty hore...that's all you are to Dean and that's all you ever will be." Enya hissed, enjoying tearing the youth apart. Pulling her hand free, she grabbed a towel tossed to her and cleaned her hands of the white substance. A shiver ran down her spine, the phantom sensation of holding the Winchester lingering.

Licking her lips she held herself back, wanting to continue ravaging the boy. However, she loved the catch and release method. That way the two had time to mope and fret over their possible future. Reaching up in one fluid motion, she grasped Sam's downward chin, shaking his head. Her eyes stared at him predatorily, locking his gaze.

The beautiful chocolate orbs were redlined and fearful. She was slowly breaking him. Smiling, she winked, earning a jolt backwards from Sam. It sent agony down his side and made him muffle a groan. Glancing at Dean, Enya looked at the golden watch on her wrist. Her tongue clicked in dissatisfaction, head shaking as she lifted her gaze.

Eyes dancing between the two Winchesters, she spoke somewhat happily. "Look at the time; I guess it's onto a commercial break. I'm sure you two will be able to entertain yourself for a couple of hours?"

Dean growled, still trying to catch his breath. However, he knew his discomfort was nothing compared to what his brother had to be feeling. The kid was barely able to stay conscious, head hanging. "You-will-pay." He snarled, looking up briefly at Butch as the man laughed before walking away.

"You wish." Enya countered, leaving the room with her guard dog right behind her. The slam of the rusty door alerted Dean to his new task at hand - try to regroup.

"Sam...?" The oldest Winchester asked quietly, not wanting to startle his lover. Dean could smell the distinct odor of blood and sweat, the musty scent overwhelmed by the two. He felt so weak, unable to unhook Sam. The silence that greeted him caused him to scramble to his feet and stop in front of the youth. His head reached Sam's chest, the Winchester gaining a few more inches from being strung so high. Tilting his neck back, Dean sighed. Sam was still breathing, his cheeks dampening with each transparent drop that fell downward. "Hey...it's alright." He purred, trying to sooth the youth. Inside his stomach twisted in knots, hands needing to wrap around the woman and man's throat. The mask of calm stayed up however, the need to keep Sam together stronger than the urge to kill. Stroking his knuckles down the side of his lover's face he tried to offer a smile, though Sam's eyes were closed.

"Y-you shouldn't-" The youngest Winchester tried to speak, his words jumbled and trailing off. He couldn't get his shaking under control, his cheeks still crimson with shame.

Dean counted to ten in his head, knowing that Sam could not take him screaming at him for thinking such a thing. How could his lover believe he thought Sam was any less of a man? Tracing his thumb back and forth on the youth's jaw line, Dean shook his head slowly. "No, I love you and will always love you. This doesn't change anything." He stated firmly, his shoulders sagging slightly when Sam finally opened his eyes to stare brokenly at him. At least his comment will drive the youth for the time being. He can't have Sam quitting on him just yet. "Sleep for now, okay? I'm right here." They both needed as much rest as they could get, especially his little brother. Sam was the target of this whole mess and would get the brunt of it. Still, he wasn't going to let them kill his brother before his eyes. He loved him and wasn't going to let him go.


	10. Unmasked

Chapter 10

_Unmasked _

Dean sighed as Sam shook his head, knowing the youth was fighting to stay awake. "Come on then, let's try to get you down." The words were soft and roughened around the edges, anger welling up in Dean as he thought about how pointless it was to even to so. They would just string Sam back up, hurting him further. Wrapping his arms around the youth's waist,

Dean looked Sam straight in the eye. "You ready baby? This will hurt."

Sam closed his eyes a moment, preparing. With a inhale he nodded, clenching his teeth as he felt his body being squeezed. Pain exploded in his ribs and back, a loud whimper of agony slipping through tight closed lips.

"Easy baby, I got you." Dean whispered, hurryingly lifting his brother off the hook and easing them both back onto the ground. The stone scraped the skin off his knees, Sam's arms looping around his neck as the wounded hunter rested his forehead on Dean's shoulder.

"I'm so sorry…God…Dean…" Sam gasped, sobs beginning to take hold and rip him apart with discomfort. Every limb felt like needs were driving into the flesh.  
Gripping Sam's neck, Dean nuzzled his nose into his brother's hair, humming quietly.

The noise slowly caused Sam to become sleepy, his body falling sideways onto Dean's lap. He felt tears stream down as his older brother curled a gentle arm around him, shielding him. It made him believe he might actually survive this hell hole.

* * *

The empty Impala gleamed in the light as Bobby stared at the vehicle with a puzzled brow. Sitting in his truck he continued to blankly look through the window, confusion written on his face. This was where the boys said they were staying last. He was sure of it, the hotel room still filled with markings of the hunters. The only clue he had to what happened was the rustled sheets on the single bed, which was an oddity in itself. The boys had been quiet of late, ever since the deal was made.

Bobby understood, knowing that the burden was heavy, especially on Sam. The youth had been crushed upon hearing the truth. Even Bobby had shed a few tears since then. Like sons he never had. It was why he knew deep down that something was very wrong here. Kidnapping amongst other options came to mind, worrying him till he swore his hair was turning gray. Shaking his head he fiddled with his old cap before flipping his phone open. He knew a couple of fellows hanging about this town about the time the Winchesters were here.  
Listening to the rings, the senior hunter tapped the wheel impatiently. As the sound of a male came on however, he went still.

"Bobby?"

"Yeah, hey, I was wondering if you knew anything about the Winchesters?" Hope speckled his tone, his eyes fixed on the boy's room number.

"Yeah, they were working a case. Something about possession I think?"

Growling low Bobby slammed the steering wheel. "I know Forester but I can't find them. They just disappeared!"

Silence was heard on the other end for a few moments before the man on the other line sighed. "Those boys just keep getting crap shoved on them Bobby. I thought something was funny when I saw there impala still parked after a few days passed. I figured they were just taking extra long on a hunt."

"Yeah…so did I. Any demonic activity here?" Bobby inquired.

"Something a little stronger than normal. Three demonic possessions in a week."

The number set the hairs on Bobby's neck erect, eyes narrowing. "The same damn demons that probably got Dean and Sam." He concluded, leaving the truck and storming into the Winchester's room. His own demonology journal was slammed onto the table, it's cover flung open. "There vulnerable right now Forester…" Bobby cursed, feeling as if his own limbs were being chopped off for letting the boys get in trouble again.

"I'm finishing up a Vampire nest and then I'll come down and help ya find them Bobby."

Nodding his head Bobby replied. "Meet me here at the hotel. You know how to find me." With a click of the end button Bobby shut the phone, centering on finding what the hell took his boys.

* * *

Dean hugged his brother closer as Enya taunted them, her high heels annoyingly clicking. Sam was unresponsive to the taunts, his body laying prone on his older brother.

"Come on, I know you did it Sam. You killed my sister!" Enya growled, eyes menacingly glaring.

"Jesus Christ-"

Butch and Enya suddenly flinched, lips peeling back as they snarled. Right then and there Dean froze, gaping at his captures.

"You're fucken Demons?! This whole time!" Dean yelled, easing Sam down onto floor. He pushed the thought of his brother not even flinching against the cold stone to the back of his mind. Standing he felt his head warm with rage. This event was just because some demons wanted to get a couple punches in, not over a death of a innocent. Dean had missed it entirely, his teeth clenching. Sam had put himself through mountains of guilt for nothing.

Eyes rolling to black, Enya chuckled. Her hands spread wide as she cocked her head. "Its me all right. Took you forever to notice. The great Winchesters taken down by the same demons they sent down to hell, how ironic is that?"

Coming beside her Butch nodded, bowing. When Dean continued to stare at them angrily, he spoke. "You don't remember us do you Dean?"

The Winchester rolled his eyes. "Like I remember every bastard and bitch I sent to hell?"

The retort hit a nerve, Dean's body suddenly lifting from the floor and slamming into a near by wall of steel. The metal vibrated around him, the impact alerting Sam.

Pushing back the pain, Sam levered himself upwards, using only his arms. Glancing at Dean he blinked. Something was wrong with the situation, the agony permitting him from thinking straight. The older hunter met his little brother's gaze, pride glowing in his orbs.

"Oh look, Sammy decided to join us finally!" Enya beamed. Her nails wrapped around the wounded youth's forearm and squeezed. Slowly, she increased the pressure till Sam whipped his head around. A whimper slipped through his parched lips at the sight of the demon invading his personal space. Struggling to get out of the hold, Sam continued to moan and groan in pain. He refused to give up however, the youth's effort only enticing the demons further.

"Leave him be bitch!" Dean screamed, panting from trying to break the bonds that held him against the wall like a picture. His eyes went to Sam's face, noting the tears rolling downward. Blood was oozing from his back and front.

"Oh come on Dean, its so fun though." Bending downward, Enya let her true self come forth, scaring the youngest Winchester.

Sam's eyes widened, mouth opening like a fish as he stopped struggling for a few seconds. Once realization that he was in deep trouble hit he immediately tried to fight harder.

"Oh look how the little guy squirms!"

Dean cursed silently as Sam was practically full out sobbing, his lips trembling. It was a pitiful sight. He wanted to just pick his baby up and shield him from the world.


End file.
